THOMAS KINGO, Bishop of Funen, a beloved Danish hymn-writer, was born in 1634, and died in 1703. He wrote a large number of psalms and hymns. ARISE, my soul! awake from sleep! His loved ones, mourning, laid him deep But from the tomb he valiant came, A cheering sound, an angel's voice, O sacred day! sublimest day! O mystery unheard! Death's hosts, that claimed him as their prey, He scattered with a word; And from the tomb he valiant came, And ever blessed be his name! O holy, holy paschal morn! We triumphed have through thee: Thou sweetenest Christ's torture, borne For from the tomb he valiant came, I boldly now defy thee, Death! The grave is dark, the grave is cold, From the foul sepulchre of sin As from the tomb the Saviour came: Translated from the Danish of THOMAS KINGO by THE LORD OF LIFE IS RISEN! "Der Herr ist auferstanden!" HENRY HARBAUGH, a divine of the German Reformed Church, was born in Maryland, Oct. 24, 1817, and became, after a variety of adverse experiences, Professor of Theology at Mercersburgh, Pa., where he died from overwork, Dec. 25, 1867. He wrote a number of books and poems, some of which were in the Pennsylvania German dialect. THE Lord of life is risen! In death no longer lying, -- We hear in thy blest greeting, Here at thy tomb, O Jesus, Oh, publish this salvation, Ye heralds, through the earth! Hail, hail, our Jesus risen! Haste, haste, ye captive legions! JOHANN PETER LANGE, 1852. Translated by AN EASTER ODE. THE calm of blessed night Is on Judæa's hills; The full-orbed moon with cloudless light Is still and tranquil seen, Around that spot each way The figures ye may trace Of men-at-arms in grim array, Girding the solemn place: But other bands are there And, glistening through the gloom, Legions of angels bright and fair Throng to that wondrous tomb. "Praise be to God on high! The triumph-hour is near ; The Lord hath won the victory, The foe is vanquished here! Dark grave, yield up the dead; "Sharp was the wreath of thorns Around his suffering brow; But glory rich his head adorns, And angels crown him now. Roll yonder rock away That bars the marble gate; And gather we in bright array To swell the Victor's state! "Hail, hail, hail! The Lord is risen indeed! The curse is made of none avail; The sons of men are freed!" HENRY ALFORD, D. D. FOR EASTER SUNDAY. MRS. BARBAULD was the daughter of the Rev. John Aiken, and was born at Kibworth-Harcourt, Leicestershire, June 20, 1743- Dr. Doddridge was for a time a member of her father's family, and her religious principles were in part established by him. Her first volume of poems was issued in 1773, and four editions were called for in that year. In May, 1774, Miss Aiken married the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, a dissenting clergyman, of Huguenot descent. Her subsequent writings were, like her first volume, successful She became a widow in 1808, and died March 9, 1825. AGAIN the Lord of life and light Awakes the kindling ray, Unseals the eyelids of the morn, And pours increasing day. Oh, what a night was that which wrapt This day be grateful homage paid, Ten thousand differing lips shall join Jesus, the friend of humankind, With strong compassion moved, Descended like a pitying God To save the souls he loved. The powers of darkness leagued in vain Heavy fall the shadows on the dim horizon, Veiled the starry eyes from wistful eyes below; Cold and still thou liest in thine earthly prison; Whither, Lord and Master, whither shall we go? Fainting by the wayside, lo, we turn and listen: Surely we have trusted, turned in faith and meekness To the arms extended and the thorn-crowned brow; But, alas! thou knowest all our human weak ness, Faint we are and fearful, - wilt thou leave us now? Through our Lent of longing lift we weary eyes: Will the Easter dawning once more gleam and glisten? Will the Christ we wait for yet once more arise? Lo, the strange, new voices! lo, the scoffer's whisper; “He in whom you trusted passeth like the rest: Sigh of aged mourner, breath of infant lisper,Naught shall stir an echo in that silent breast!" Lord, the peril presses! Lord, the night-wrack deeper AN EASTER SONG. Peace! The deep gloom brightens! See through yon dim distance Gleams a glow of glory, wakes a sudden ray! OUT of dust and darkness comes a cry of Lo, the gracious guerdon of Faith's sweet passion, persistence! Out of loss and sorrow wakes a sudden thrill, Sick we are and weary of life's hollow fashion, Hear us, Lord, and answer! Dost thou slumber still? Lo, the gentle dawning of Love's Easter Hark! the anthem answers; listen! fast and faster Swells a psalm whose chorus angels shout abroad: "Come, O Lord undying! Hail, O Mighty Master! Lo, the risen Saviour! Lo, the Christ of BARTON GREY. WELCOME, O DAY! WILLIAM ALLEN was born at Pittsfield, Mass., Jan. 2, 1784, and died at Northampton, July 16, 1868 He was a learned Congregational minister, and was, at different times, president of Dartmouth College and Bowdoin College. He was author of an American Biographical and Historical Dictionary, and of a volume of Christian Sonnets. WELCOME, O day! in dazzling glory bright! Harder weighs the burden on thy toiling Emblem of yet another day most blest, creatures, Faster crowd the evils thou alone canst shall rest; cure; For on this day, in his recovered might, Through the time-mists dimmer shine thy The sleeper waked to see this morning's gracious features, light, Ah! the need is greater, is the hope as sure? "The Son of God!" glad angel hosts attest: And the golden catkins swing Sing, children, sing! The lilies white you bring In the joyous Easter morning for hope are blossoming; And as the earth her shroud of snow from off her breast doth fling, So may we cast our fetters off in God's eternal spring. So may we find release at last from sorrow and from pain, So may we find our childhood's calm, delicious dawn again. Sweet are your eyes, O little ones, that look with smiling grace, Without a shade of doubt or fear into the Future's face! Sing, sing in happy chorus, with joyful voices tell That death is life, and God is good, and all things shall be well; That bitter days shall cease Sing, little children, sing! CELIA THAXTER. JESUS LIVES. "Jesus lebt, mit Ihm auch ich." CHRISTIAN FÜRCHTEGOTT GELLERT was a man and poet who in his melancholy and religious earnestness somewhat resembled Cowper. He was born July 4, 1715, at Haynichen, Saxony, where his father was for fifty years the minister, and studied at the University of Leipzig, where he formed the acquaintance of J. E Schlegel and other literary men. He afterwards lectured on Belles Lettres, Goethe being at one time among his pupils. He wrote much in the intervals of attacks of melancholy, his hymns having been prepared after careful preparation of the heart and prayer. They are didactic, and not equal to those of Luther, Gerhardt, and others, but they touch the heart. Gellert died at Leipzig. Dec. 13, 1769. The following is based upon these words of St Paul: "He that raised up Christ from the dead shall also quicken your mortal bodies." ROM. viii. 11. JESUS lives! no longer now Can thy terrors, Death, appall me; Jesus lives! by this I know From the grave he will recall me ; Brighter scenes at death commence; This shall be my confidence. Jesus lives! to him the throne High o'er heaven and earth is given; I may go where he is gone, Live and reign with him in heaven: |