Guido Reni’S “Ecce Homo.”

O thorn-crowned head, the sins of all the world Have pierced thy brow; O gentle face, the woes of all the world Thou bearest now!

O patient eyes, to heaven in meekness turned, Meekness divine, Within your suffering depths what wondrous light Of love doth shine!

O faltering, parted lips, with anguish wrung, Your words still live And plead for us,--“They know not what they do-- Father, forgive!”

ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

The day’s loud footfalls die away, And stealing forth from her retreat Like a hooded nun, the twilight gray Glides softly down the busy street. With healing touch her gentle hand Rests on the city’s fevered brow; Its throbbing pulse is quiet now, And peace descends on the weary land. Since morn the dull December sky Has wept and moaned incessantly; The tall, gaunt forms of shivering trees Have groaned and rattled their bony arms, Till, startled by the restless breeze, The withered sprites of summer leaves Have gathered to whisper their vague alarms, Now whirling aloft to the dripping eaves, Now wavering slow to earth again, Borne down by the pitiless, hopeless rain. Upon my hearth the ruddy light Dances and plays at the fire-dogs’ feet Chasing the shadows out of sight; Around the walls it follows them fast, Hunts them into a corner at last, Up the chimney, out into the night. The blaze laughs loud with a music sweet, My heart grows warm in its cheery glow, And a thousand fancies come and go. The perfumed breath of the birchen brand, Rich with forest spices rare, Bears heavenward many a hope and prayer That only One can understand. Oh that my life were sweet and pure As the incense of this burning wood! Oh that my faith were strong and sure As the flame that ever strives toward God! I hear the sound of the sleet and rain Brushing against my window-pane; The voice of the wind is sad and low, The shadows return, and to and fro They flit and hover uneasily, Until at last they rest on me. Heap high the sturdy fire-dogs’ backs With boughs of hemlock, birch, and pine. The crisp bark curls, and smokes, and cracks; It comes at last, the spark divine, And bursting forth in broad, free laughter, The glorious blaze comes hurrying after, Springs up the chimney with a roar, Chasing the shadows away once more, Shining far out upon the floor, And sweeping away on its gladsome tide The fears and doubts, o’er which I sighed, To the depths of the sea, to the depths of the sea,-- The cares and sins that have haunted me!

I thank thee for thy help, sweet hour, For thou hast helped me true and well; I thank thee for the gentle spell Beneath which thou dost wield thy power, And when the twilight seeks at morn Her convent walls within the west, My soul shall know its truest rest, And bless the day when Christ was born.

BY NIGHT.

O’er Judah’s dark hill-tops the starlight is shining; In silence the silvery light Falls soft on the white, sleeping lambs and their shepherds, By night.

Sleep on, trustful flocks, while shepherds are watching; Fear not, for soon shall be born The dear Lamb of God, in a Bethlehem manger, This morn.

Keep watch, faithful shepherds, through gathering shadows, Though the hillside be lonely and drear; For lo, in the darkness the Shepherd of shepherds Is near!

Sing on, ye bright angels, repeat the glad tidings,-- Joy, peace, and good-will on the earth; Proclaim to the weary, the sad, and the suffering, His birth.

Shine, radiant Star in the East, till thy glory O’er Wise Men and manger is poured, For Mary’s dear babe is the blessèd Christ Jesus, Our Lord.