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Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud:
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest;
Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud;
In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark
The sable-stoléd sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.
He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded infant's hand;
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
Longer dare abide,
Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damnéd crew.
So, when the sun in bed
Curtain'd with cloudy red
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the infernal jail,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave;
And the yellow-skirted fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest;
Time is, our tedious song should here have ending:
Heaven's youngest-teeméd star
Hath fixed her polish'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending;
Bright harness'd angels sit in order serviceable.
LESSON XCV.-THE BROOK.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
And sparkle out among the fern,
By thirty mills I hurry down,
I chatter over stony ways,
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
I wind about and in and out,
And here and there a foamy flake
With many a silvery water-break
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses,
LESSON XCVI.-RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!
How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs !
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!
Across the window pane
It pours and pours ;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!
The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.
From the neighbouring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
In the country on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand;
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapours that arise
From the well-watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man's spoken word.
Near at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees
His pastures and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.-Longfellow.
LESS. XCVII.—EARTH'S VOICES.
The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lips of the sod,
The birds that hymn their raptures in the ear of God, The summer-wind that bringeth music o'er land and
Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of songs
"This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love.”
Night's starry tendernesses dower with glory evermore, Morn's budding-bright melodious hour comes sweetly as of yore;
But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet sunbeams shine,
And there be million hearts athirst for love's immortal
This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above,
And if we did our duty it might be full of love.
LESS. XCVIII.-LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky