YULE TIDE.

The Royal Birthday dawns again,

A stricken world to bless;

And sufferers forget their pain,

And mourners their distress.

Love sings to-day; her eyes so fair

With happy tears are wet;

She is too humble to despair,

Too faithful to forget.

Her voice is very soft and sweet,

Her heart is brave and strong;

Her vassal, I would fain repeat

Some fragments of her song.

A Birthday-song my heart would sing

Its rapture to express;

My Father's son must be a king,

And share His consciousness.

Of God's Self-knowledge comes the Word

That utters all His Thought;

That Word made Flesh by all is heard

Who seek as they are sought.

His seeking and His finding make

Our search an easy thing;

He sows good seed, and bids us take

The joys of harvesting.

Yet must His children do their part,

And what He gives accept;

No heart can understand His Heart

That has not bled and wept.

All seasons, bring they bale or bliss,

His priceless treasures hold;

The Winter's silver all is His,

And His the Summer's gold.

Life's harvest is not reaped until

The Christ within has grown

To perfect manhood, and self-will

By love is overthrown.

Such manhood gained concludes the strife

That makes the babe a boy;

‘ T is thus the seed becomes a life,

The life becomes a joy.

The eyes that weep are eyes that see,

And swift are pilgrim-feet;

Ah! hope at length may come to be

Than memory more sweet.

So keeping festival to-day,

With children's laughter near,

It is not hard to sing and pray,

‘ T is hard to doubt or fear.

Father, my heart to Thee I bring,

To Thee my song address;

From Winter pain and toil of Spring

Grows Summer happiness.