REGINALD HEBER

INALD HEBER, born in England, 1783; died Hia, 1826. In 1823 he was consecrated bishop lcutta. His hymns and poems are his title to remembrance.

CHRISTMAS HYMN

GHTEST and best of the sons of the mornng!

non our darkness, and lend us Thine aid! the East, the horizon adorning,

e where our infant Redeemer is laid!

His cradle the dew-drops are shining, ies His head with the beasts of the stall; adore Him in slumber reclining, and Monarch and Saviour of all!

Il we yield Him, in costly devotion,
of Edom, and offerings divine?
the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
from the forest or gold from the mine?

e offer each ampler oblation;
with gifts would His favor secure:
7 far is the heart's adoration;
to God are the prayers of the poor.

and best of the sons of the morning!
n our darkness, and lend us Thine aid!
e East, the horizon adorning,

here our infant Redeemer is laid!

SEE them on their winding way, About their ranks the moonbeams play; eir lofty deeds and daring high end with the notes of victory.

nd waving arms, and banners bright,
e glancing in the mellow light:

ey're lost,—and gone-the moon is past,
e wood's dark shade is o'er them cast;
d fainter, fainter, fainter still

e march is rising o'er the hill.

gain, again, the pealing drum,

e clashing horn, they come; they come!
rough rocky pass, o'er wooded steep,
long and glittering files they sweep;
ad nearer, nearer, yet more near,
eir softened chorus meets the ear;
rth, forth, and meet them on their way;
e trampling hoofs brook no delay;
ith thrilling fife and pealing drum,
ad clashing horn, they come; they come!

SYMPATHY

NIGHT and a lady once met in a grove, While each was in quest of a fugitive love; ran mournfully murmuring by,

ey wept in its waters for sympathy.

ver was knight such a sorrow that bore!" ver was maid so deserted before!" life and its woes let us instantly fly, imp in together for company!"

earch'd for an eddy that suited the deed, re was a bramble, and there was a weed;

hey sat down to rest them in company.

gazed at each other, the maid and the knight; fair was her form, and how goodly his height ! è mournful embrace,” sobbed the youth,

die!"

ssing and crying kept company.

66

ere we

had I but lov'd such an angel as you!" had but my swain been a quarter as true!" niss such perfection how blinded was I!" now they were excellent company."

gth spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear, weather is cold for a watery bier; summer returns we may easily die, en let us sorrow in company."

ELP, LORD, OR WE PERISH"

[EN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,

o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,

e lends a ray, the poor seaman to cherish, o our Maker: "Help, Lord, or we perish."

! once tossed on the breast of the billow, by the shriek of despair from Thy pillow, ted in glory, the mariner cherish

es in his danger, "Help, Lord, or we perish."

when the whirlwind of passion is raging, I in our heart his wild warfare is waging, Thy strength, Thy redeemed to cherish;

HEINRICH HEINE

INRICH HEINE, born in Dusseldorf, Germany I died in Paris, 1856. He was of Jewish tage, and a rare genius. He was equally at in prose and poetry. His works are of a misneous character, and clothed in a style of great

y.

A

THE VOYAGE

S at times the moonbeam pierces
Through the thickest cloudy rack,
So to me, through days so dreary,
One bright image struggles back.

Seated all on deck, we floated
Down the Rhine's majestic stream;
On its borders, summer-laden,
Slept the peaceful evening gleam.

Brooding, at the feet I laid me
Of a fair and gentle one,
In whose placid, pallid features
Played the ruddy-golden sun.

utes were ringing, youths were singing,
Swelled my heart with feelings strange;
Bluer grew the heaven above us,
Wider grew the spirit's range.

'airy-like beside us flitted

Rock and ruin, wood and plain;

And I gazed on all reflected

In my loved one's eyes again.

KNOW not whence it rises,

This thought so full of woe;
But a tale of times departed
Haunts me, and will not go.

The air is cool, and it darkens,
And calmly flows the Rhine,
The mountain-peaks are sparkling
In the sunny evening-shine.

And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair;

With gold is her garment glittering,
As she combs her golden hair:

With a golden comb she combs it;
And a wild song singeth she,

That melts the heart with a wondrous
And powerful melody.

The boatman feels his bosom
With a nameless longing move:
He sees not the gulfs before him,
His gaze is fixed above;

Till over boat and boatman
The Rhine's deep waters run:
And this, with her magic singing,
'ill Lorelei has done!

THE MOUNTAIN ECHO
(Translation of E. A. Bowring)

T sad slow pace across the vale

AT

There rode a horseman brave:

Ah! travel I now to my mistress's arms Or but to the darksome grave?"

The echo answer gave: