Mercy will sit between, Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering, And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest fate says No, This must not yet be so; That with long beams the shame-faced night The babe yet lies in smiling infancy, arrayed, The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings dis played, Harping in loud and solemn choir, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's newborn Heir. Such music, as 'tis said, Never before was made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, Ring out, ye crystal spheres, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity Will sicken and soon die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mold, And hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wear ing, That on the bitter cross So both himself and us to glorify; Yet first, to those enchained in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; 'Twas in the calm and silent night, The senator of haughty Rome, Naught but profoundest Hell can be his Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, shroud; In vain with timbreled anthem dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded Infant's hand From lordly revel rolling home; Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne; Within that province far away Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable-door Across his path. He passed, for naught Told what was going on within; How keen the stars, his only thought, The air, how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. O strange indifference! low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares; The earth was still, but knew not why, The world was listening unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever: To that still moment none would heed Man's doom was linked no more to sever. In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago. It is the calm and silent night! A thousand bells ring out and throw Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp at- Their joyous peals abroad, and smite Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, Hope when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying, "Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure!" Go, ask the infidel what boon he brings us, What charm for aching hearts he can reveal Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us: "But now, beyond the things of sense, Beyond occasions and events, I know, through God's exceeding grace, Release from form and time and place. "I listen, from no mortal tongue, To hear the song the angels sung; And wait within myself to know The Christmas lilies bud and blow. "The outward symbols disappear From him whose inward sight is clear; "Earth has no sorrows that God cannot And small must be the choice of days heal!" THOMAS MOORE. THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS. "A" LL hail!" the bells of Christmas rang, The merry monks who kept with cheer But still apart, unmoved thereat, Silent, in his accustomed place, With God's sweet peace upon his face. "Why sitt'st thou thus?" his brethren cried. "Above our heads the joy-bells ring, "Rejoice with us; no more rebuke "Let heathen Yule fires flicker red "The blindest faith may haply save; "They needs must grope who cannot see, To him who fills them all with praise! "I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY." (Job VII., 16.) WOULD not live alway; I ask not to stay Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way; Where, seeking for rest, I but hover around, Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found; Where Hope, when she paints her gay bow in the air, Leaves her brilliance to fade in the night of despair; And Joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray, Save the gleam of the plumage that bears him away. I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin, Temptation without, and corruption within; In a moment of strength if I sever the chain, Scarce the victory's mine ere I'm captive |