“Blessed.”

“Blessed are they that mourn.” The gentle tones, A moment faltering, then strong and sweet, Ring out upon the morning air. The throng Wait silently, lest by a whispered sigh Or quick-drawn breath a word should fall unheard From Him, the wonderful, the Prince of Peace. “Blessed”--the widow, shuddering, draws more close Her sombre draperies, and bows her head In agony of dumb and hopeless grief.

--“Are they that mourn!” A dry, half-stifled sob Bursts from a gray-haired man; ’twas yesterday They buried all most dear to him on earth, And sun and stars were blotted out. Hot tears Fall thickly on his knotted, sunburnt hands, And still he listens to that strange, sweet voice.

“Blessed are they that mourn.” What aching hearts Among the eager, silent multitude Cry out in bitter anguish that His words Are vain and mocking!

Lo, the Saviour turns With infinite compassion in His eye, And stretching forth His hands as though to give The blessing He has promised, speaks again: “They shall be comforted!”

The morning sun Breaks forth in triumph from the heavy clouds That hid His face. The waves of Galilee, Gleaming far distant in the misty east, Cast off the shroud of night. The air is full Of waking glory. But of all who feel The gladness and the freshness of the morn, Those only who have passed through deepest gloom Receive the fulness of that new, sweet peace His words have given,--and they are comforted!

A CHRISTMAS PASTORAL.

The shepherds were keeping their watch by night, In the field with their flock abiding; And soft on the fleece of the lambs fell the light Of a new-risen star, From deserts afar The wise ones to Bethlehem guiding.

What startles the watchers? A rustle of wings, And a radiant figure above them. The lambs are afraid, and the white, woolly things, With tremulous bleat, Nestle close to the feet Of the faithful shepherds who love them.

“Fear not!” comes the message, exultant and strong, “Good tidings of joy I am bringing!” And lo! with the song of a heavenly throng, “Peace on earth! For this morn A Saviour is born!” The hillsides of Judah are ringing.

The bright ones are gone; over thicket and stone The starlight of Christmas is falling; But the lambs, without even an angel, alone In the great silent night, With sudden affright, For their lost shepherds vainly are calling.

They knew not a tenderer Shepherd was near, His flocks to deliver from danger, And comfort all desolate lambs in their fear,-- For peacefully lay, On that first Christmas day, Lord Christ, in a Bethlehem manger.

THE FOURTH WATCH.

Midnight upon Gennesaret; the restless waves, Like jewels on the troubled bosom of the sea, Flash forth in rays of silvery light, or hide within Her dark and flowing tresses. Soft, as in a dream, The night-winds sigh and whisper o’er the little ship, While from the far-off, shadowy hills of Galilee Their cool breath gently fans the weary twelve, as rests A loving hand upon a fevered, aching brow. Deserted lies the quiet, moon-lit shore, but all The air is heavy with the perfume of the grass, Crushed into fragrance by the waiting multitude Whom Jesus fed. The Giver of the bread of life Has gone apart upon the mountain-side to pray, Alone. The night is dark, the Master is not come; The sea arises, and on every side the waves Gigantic, black, and topped with lurid crests of foam, Leap madly through the gloom. Labors the little ship, Hurled to and fro and beaten back upon her course. With slow and stubborn stroke the rowers wearily Are straining at the heavy oars. But hark! above The sullen roar of wind and sea, a well-loved voice, Vibrant and sweet with chords of heavenly music, speaks, And they were sore afraid; but He saith unto them, “Be of good cheer, ’tis I, be not afraid.” And lo, The tempest ceased! and when they had received their Lord, The ship had come unto the haven they desired.