As moonbeam on a mountain-mereThe Mother's face was white;Her eyes were stars, and every tearGave lustre to their light.Methinks a blushing moon looked downUpon that manger-bed,And wove a mystic glory-crownAround the Sleeper's head.The silence issues in a song,It rises and it swells;E'en than the lark's more blithe and strong,Sweeter than Philomel's,His Church's anthem loud and longThe Victim's triumph tells._THE DAYSMAN._In boyhood's sorrow-shadowed days,Which memory recalls to-day,In many moods and many ways,My yearning heart would pray.'T was holy ground where'er I setMy feet, God's shrine was everywhere;But this I scarcely knew as yet--_Christ is His Father's Prayer_.[3]God ever seeks His children's bliss,Appeals to them; and, rightly heard,The music of creation isThe echo of His Word....... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.