His throne, thy bosom blest,
   O mother undefiled —
That throne, if aught beneath the skies,
   Beseems the sinless child.

   Lost in high thoughts, “whose son
   The wondrous Babe might prove,”
Her guileless husband walks beside,
   Bearing the hallowed dove;

   Meet emblem of His vow,
   Who, on this happy day,
His dove-like soul—­best sacrifice —
   Did on God’s altar lay.

   But who is he, by years
   Bowed, but erect in heart,
Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? 
   “Lord, let me now depart.

   “Now hath Thy servant seen
   Thy saving health, O Lord;
’Tis time that I depart in peace,
   According to Thy word.”

   Yet swells this pomp:  one more
   Comes forth to bless her God;
Full fourscore years, meek widow, she
   Her heaven-ward way hath troth.

   She who to earthly joys
   So long had given farewell,
Now sees, unlooked for, Heaven on earth,
   Christ in His Israel.

   Wide open from that hour
   The temple-gates are set,
And still the saints rejoicing there
   The holy Child have met.

   Now count His train to-day,
   Auth who may meet Him, learn: 
Him child-like sires, meek maidens find,
   Where pride can nought discern.

   Still to the lowly soul
   He doth Himself impart,
And for His cradle and His throne
   Chooseth the pure in heart.

ST. MATTHIAS’ DAY

Wherefore of these men which have companied with us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism of John, unto the same day that He was taken up from us, must one be ordained to be a witness with us of His resurrection.  Acts i. 21, 22.

      Who is God’s chosen priest? 
He, who on Christ stands waiting day and night,
Who traceth His holy steps, nor ever ceased,
   From Jordan banks to Bethphage height: 

      Who hath learned lowliness
From his Lord’s cradle, patience from His Cross; Whom poor men’s eyes and hearts consent to bless;
   To whom, for Christ, the world is loss;

      Who both in agony
Hath seen Him and in glory; and in both
Owned Him divine, and yielded, nothing loth,
   Body and soul, to live and die,

      In witness of his Lord,
In humble following of his Saviour dear: 
This is the man to wield th’ unearthly sword,
   Warring unharmed with sin and fear.

      But who can o’er suffice —
What mortal—­for this more than angels’ task,
Winning or losing souls, Thy life-blood’s price? 
   The gift were too divine to ask.

      But Thou hast made it sure
By Thy dear promise to thy Church and Bride,
That Thou, on earth, wouldst aye with her endure,
   Till earth to Heaven be purified.