204 THE STARS. THE STARS. "STARS, that on your wondrous way Travel through the evening sky, Is there nothing you can say To a child so small as I? "Child, as truly as we roll Through the dark and distant sky, You have an immortal soul, Born to live when we shall die: Suns and planets pass away, Spirits never can decay. "When, some thousand years at most, All their little time have spent, One by one our sparkling host Shall forsake the firmament, You must live beyond us all. "Yes, and God, who bade us roll, A CHRISTMAS HYMN. "O then, while your breath is given, Pour it out in fervent prayer, And beseech the God of Heaven As a living star to blaze Ever to your Saviour's praise." 205 HYMNS FOR INFANT MINDS. A CHRISTMAS HYMN. It was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea! No sound was heard of clashing wars, Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Held undisturbed their ancient reign, - "T was in the calm and silent night! His breast with thoughts of boundless sway: 206 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. What recked the Roman what befell Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor; Fallen through a half-shut stable door O strange indifference! - low and high The world was listening- unawares ! One that shall thrill the world forever! Centuries ago! It is the calm and silent night! A thousand bells ring out, and throw FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. 207 The night that erst no shame had worn, To it a happy name is given; For in that stable lay, new-born, The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven,- ALFRED DORNETT. FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. A LITTLE child, she read a book, And as she read page after page, Her little finger, carefully, Went pointing out the place; The open book lay on her knee, He sat upon a mossy stone, And round, for miles on every side, 208 FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. The summer sun shone on the trees, The deer lay in the shade; Their pleasant clamor made. There was no garden round the house, There was no garden round about, The butterfly went flitting by; The bees were in the flowers; "Why sit ye here, my little maid ?" The child looked upward from her book Back fell her locks of golden hair, And solemn was her look; "O sir, I read this book!" |