And, as he guides the blade that gropes
Up from the barren sod,
So, from the ashes of our hopes,
Will beauty grow toward God.

Whate'er thy name, O Soul of Life, --
We know but that thou art, --
Thou seest, through all our waste of strife,
One groping human heart,
Weary of words and broken sight,
But moved with deep accord
To worship where thy lilies light
The altar of its Lord.




A Christmas Hymn



Near where the shepherds watched by night
And heard the angels o'er them,
The wise men saw the starry light
Stand still at last before them.
No armored castle there to ward
His precious life from danger,
But, wrapped in common cloth, our Lord
Lay in a lowly manger.
No booming bells proclaimed his birth,