YULE TIDE.

'They bring me sorrow touched with joy, The merry merry bells of Yule.'

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.