Poems (Kimball)/The Christian Year
THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.
ADVENT: now begins the year, Opening with holy fear. Haste, ye faithful, to prepare For the coming in the air Of the Lord with angels bright Thronging from the heavenly height He shall come our Judge to be; Haste, ye faithful; bow the knee; Watch ye all, and watching pray: "Jesus, spare us in that Day!"
Christmas: time of exultation, Joy, and peace, and adoration, Telling how of old He came, Sinless Babe of Saving Name; How the shepherds, angel-sent, Swift to Bethlehem's manger went, There to find the Child foretold By all Prophet-tongues of old; Little King, no sceptre bearing, But the meanest shelter sharing; Son of God, His glory hiding, And as Man with man abiding; Son of Mary, lowly Maiden, With eternal honor laden; Little Jesus, coming still To the hearts He fain would fill; Finding with the meek a place To exalt them through His grace; While the angels, as of yore, Praises still on praises pour, And with "Merry Christmas" sweet Christians all good Christians greet.
Circumcision: showing forth Of obedience the worth, When the little Jesus, brought To the Rite commanded, taught All his children to obey, Following in the Church's way; To be pure as He is pure, Seeking pleasures that endure.
Epiphany: whose wondrous Star Led the Magi from afar, And the Christ revealed to them In the Babe of Bethlehem. Precious gold to Him they bring, Thus acknowledging their King; Precious frankincense they pour For the God whom they adore; Precious myrrh their love supplies For their Lord and Sacrifice. Every gift we can command Of loyal heart and loyal hand, Every deed that serves to show Heavenly love in love below, Jesus claims as tribute due, All good Christians, now from you.
When Epiphany is spent, Sundays three, like heralds sent, Cry aloud the Fast of Lent. Septuagesima first, and second Sexagesima is reckoned; Quinquagesima, the last; Then comes in the solemn Fast, With Ash Wednesday's litanies,That from hearts repentant rise. Forty days at Jesus' feet Hide we now in blest retreat. At their close through Holy Week, We His way of sorrow seek, Entering first Jerusalem, While the throngs His progress hem, And with shouts of welcome press Zion's lowly King to bless, Scattering palms along His way On that one triumphant Day. Though they shout, He weeps aloud O'er the self-deceiving crowd. Through that Week we see Him bear Anguish none can know or share; On Good Friday follow Him Scourged and bruised in every limb, And with thorns in insult crowned. While the foes that Him surround Gibes and jeers incessant toss On the Altar of the Cross, We behold Him meekly die For the world's iniquity. Every Friday for His sake Let us here our station take, At His feet confession making, Self and sin abhorred foraking.
Easter-Even: Hour of rest; Faith's sweet vigil calm and blest. In the tomb His Body lies, And His Soul in Paradise Waits the morn when He shall rise.Here we watch and watching ponder On the never-lessened wonder, How from Baptism we emerge On the new life's trembling verge, In His death the "old man" dead And the "new man" raised instead. Henceforth now be crucified All our anger, lust, and pride Every evil passion die,Mortified continually!
Easter-Day: The "day of days:" Radiance immortal plays Round the sepulchre whose door,Open now can close no more!Stricken guard and broken seal To our longing eyes reveal What the glorious Angel saith Who unbarred that gate of death: "He is risen; do not fear; Jesus is no longer here; But in lowly Galilee Ye again your Lord shall see."Swift, with Alleluias sweet,Follow we His holy feet, Singing all the joyful way: "Christ the Lord has risen to-day!"
Precious Easter-Tide: Again Jesus walks the ways of men; In a body glorified,Yet the very same that died, Pierced in hand b and feet, and side; And we know in His own time We shall share that change sublime. Forty days, most wondrous days! He in word and act displays Sign and miracle, the keys Of His Kingdom's mysteries.
On the great Ascension Day,When those Forty Days are ended, With His holy hands extended,Leading forth His chosen, pressing To receive His final blessing, We behold Him pass away In a cloud of glory rise, Vanishing from mortal eyes. Once again the Angels fair,Tidings wonderful declare; He shall come again, they say, As ye saw Him go away.
While our hearts within us burn, With His chosen now we turn And obedient with them Go we to Jerusalem,There in expectation sweet To wait the Promised Paraclete—The Holy Ghost, whose tongues of fire Shall illumine and inspire. Lo! He comes on Whitsun-Day,The Holy Ghost for whom we pray, And on rushing, mighty wings, Gift of seven-fold gifts he brings,And His coming marks the birth Of the Holy Church on earth. Now our Jesus' mission ended, Be our triune praises blended To the Father and the Son And the Holy Ghost in One. Holy! Holy! Holy! cry On the Feast of Trinity;And till Advent comes again Alleluia be our strain!