THE STABLE OF BETHLEHEM.

‘ Twas not a palace proud and fair

He chose for His first home;

No dazz'ling pile of grandeur rare,

With pillar'd hall and dome;

Oh no! a stable, rude and poor,

Received Him at His birth;

And thus was born, unknown, obscure,

The Lord of Heaven and Earth.

No band of anxious menials there,

To tend the new-born child,

Joseph alone and Mary fair

Upon the infant smiled;

No broidered linens fine had they

Those little limbs to fold,

No baby garments rich and gay,

No tissues wrought with gold.

Come to your Saviour's lowly bed,

Ye vain and proud of heart!

And learn with bowed and humbled head

The lesson‘ twill impart;

‘ Twill teach you not to prize too high

The riches vain of earth —

But to lay up in God's bright sky

Treasures of truer worth.

And you, poor stricken sons of grief,

Sad outcasts of this life,

Come, too, and seek a sure relief

For your heart's bitter strife;

Enter that village stable door,

And view that lowly cot —

Will it not teach you to endure,

And even bless your lot?