Christmas | Page 9

are, With the whiter wings above them and the glory-streaming star-- Guiding-star across the housetops; never fear the Shepherds felt Till they found the Babe in manger where the kindly cattle knelt.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea!-- Do you think the Shepherds know How the whole round earth is brightened In the ruddy Christmas glow?
How the sighs are lost in laughter, and the laughter brings the tears, As the thoughts of men go seeking back across the darkling years Till they find the wayside stable that the star-led Wise Men found, With the Shepherds, mute, adoring, and the glory shining round!
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CHRISTMAS CAROL
JAMES S. PARK
So crowded was the little town On the first Christmas day, Tired Mary Mother laid her down To rest upon the hay. (Ah, would my door might have been thrown Wide open on her way!)
But when the Holy Babe was born In the deep hush of night, It seemed as if a Sabbath morn Had come with sacred light. Child Jesus made the place forlorn With his own beauty bright.
The manger rough was all his rest; The cattle, having fed, Stood silent by, or closer pressed, And gravely wonderèd. (Ah, Lord, if only that my breast Had cradled Thee instead!)
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NEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST NIGHT
NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
Deep in the shelter of the cave, The ass with drooping head Stood weary in the shadow, where His master's hand had led. About the manger oxen lay, Bending a wide-eyed gaze Upon the little new-born Babe, Half worship, half amaze. High in the roof the doves were set, And cooed there, soft and mild, Yet not so sweet as, in the hay, The Mother to her Child. The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath To keep Babe Jesus warm, While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale, The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!" Out in the fields, beneath the stars, The young lambs sleeping lay, And dreamed that in the manger slept Another white as they.
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These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child; To Thee their love was given, For in Thy baby face there shone The wonder-light of Heaven.
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CRADLE HYMN
ISAAC WATTS
Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed; Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care, or payment, All thy wants are well supplied.
How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay.
See the kindly shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky! When they sought Him, there they found Him, With his Virgin-Mother by.
See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the holy child.
Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the honest oxen fed; --Peace, my darling! here's no danger! Here's no ox a-near thy bed!
Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire; Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire.
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AN ODE ON THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR
ROBERT HERRICK
In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, O Jesu! Thou pretty baby, born here With sup'rabundant scorn here; Who for thy princely port here, Hadst for thy place Of birth, a base Out-stable for thy court here.
Instead of neat enclosures Of interwoven osiers, Instead of fragrant posies Of daffodils and roses, Thy cradle, kingly stranger, As gospel tells, Was nothing else But here a homely manger.
But we with silks, not crewels, With sundry precious jewels, And lily work will dress thee, And, as we dispossess thee Of clouts, we'll make a chamber, Sweet babe, for thee Of ivory, And plaster'd round with amber.
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CHRISTMAS SONG
EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS
Calm on the listening ear of night Come heaven's melodious strains, Where wild Judea stretches far Her silver-mantled plains; Celestial choirs from courts above Shed sacred glories there; And angels with their sparkling lyres Make music on the air.
The answering hills of Palestine Send back the glad reply, And greet from all their holy heights The day-spring from on high: O'er the blue depths of Galilee There comes a holier calm, And Sharon waves, in solemn praise, Her silent groves of palm.
"Glory to God!" The lofty strain The realm of ether fills: How sweeps the song of solemn joy O'er Judah's sacred hills! "Glory to God!" The sounding skies Loud with their anthems