SWEET ARE HIS WAYS WHO RULES ABOVE.

“Though I take the wings of the morning.”

Sweet are His ways who rules above,
  He gives from wrath a sheltering place;
  But covert none is found from grace,
Man shall not hide himself from love.

What though I take to me the wide
  Wings of the morning and forth fly,
  Faster He goes, whoso care on high
Shepherds the stars and doth them guide.

What though the tents foregone, I roam
  Till day wax dim lamenting me;
  He wills that I shall sleep to see
The great gold stairs to His sweet home.

What though the press I pass before,
  And climb the branch, He lifts his face;
  I am not secret from His grace
Lost in the leafy sycamore.

What though denied with murmuring deep
  I shame my Lord,—­it shall not be;
  For He will turn and look on me,
Then must I think thereon and weep.

The nether depth, the heights above,
  Nor alleys pleach’d of Paradise,
  Nor Herod’s judgment-halls suffice: 
Man shall not hide himself from love.

O NIGHT OF NIGHTS!

“Let us now go even unto Bethlehem.”

O Night of nights!  O night
  Desired of man so long! 
The ancient heavens fled forth in light
  To sing thee thy new song;
And shooting down the steep,
  To shepherd folk of old,
An angel, while they watch’d their sheep,
  Set foot beside the fold.

Lo! while as like to die
  Of that keen light he shed,
They look’d on his pure majesty,
  Amazed, and sore bestead;
Lo! while with words of cheer
  He bade their trembling cease,
The flocks of God swept sweetly near,
  And sang to them of peace.

All on the hillside grass
  That fulgent radiance fell,
So close those innocents did pass,
  Their words were heard right well;
Among the sheep, their wings
  Some folding, walk’d the sod
An order’d throng of shining things,
  White, with the smile of God.

The waits of heaven to hear,
  Oh! what it must have been! 
Think, Christian people, think, and fear
  For cold hearts, for unclean;
Think how the times go by,
  How love and longing fail,
Think how we live and how we die,
  As this were but a tale.

O tender tale of old,
  Live in thy dear renown;
God’s smile was in the dark, behold
  That way His hosts came down;
Light up, great God, Thy Word,
  Make the blest meaning strong,
As if our ears, indeed, had heard
  The glory of their song.

It was so far away,
  But Thou could’st make it near,
And all its living might display
  And cry to it, “Be here,”
Here, in th’ unresting town,
  As once remote to them,
Who heard it when the heavens came down,
  On pastoral Bethlehem.