we their grandest power.
Perhaps the best representative of his style is the hymn on the
Incarnation, in his dramatic poem, _The Fall of Jerusulem_. But as an
extract it is tolerably known. I prefer giving one from his few _Hymns
for Church Service_.

EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

When God came down from heaven--the living God--
What signs and wonders marked his stately way?
Brake out the winds in music where he trod?
Shone o'er the heavens a brighter, softer day?

The dumb began to speak, the blind to see,
And the lame leaped, and pain and paleness fled;
The mourner's sunken eye grew bright with glee,
And from the tomb awoke the wondering dead.

When God went back to heaven--the living God--
Rode he the heavens upon a fiery car?
Waved seraph-wings along his glorious road?
Stood still to wonder each bright wandering star?

Upon the cross he hung, and bowed his head,
And prayed for them that smote, and them that curst;
And, drop by drop, his slow life-blood was shed,
And his last hour of suffering was his worst.

_The Christian Year_ of the Rev. John Keble (born in 1800) is perhaps
better known in England than any other work of similar church character.
I must confess I have never been able to enter into the enthusiasm of its
admirers. Excellent, both in regard of their literary and religious
merits, true in feeling and thorough in finish, the poems always remind
me of Berlin work in iron--hard and delicate. Here is a portion of one of
the best of them.

ST. MATTHEW.

Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids,
The nearest heaven on earth,
Who talk with God in shadowy glades,
Free from rude care and mirth;
To whom some viewless teacher brings
The secret lore of rural things,
The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,
The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale:

Say, when in pity ye have gazed
On the wreath'd smoke afar,
That o'er some town, like mist upraised,
Hung hiding sun and star;
Then as ye turned your weary eye
To the green earth and open sky,
Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell
Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel?

But Love's a flower that will not die
For lack of leafy screen,
And Christian Hope can cheer the eye
That ne'er saw vernal green:
Then be ye sur