In The Yule-Log Glow--Book 3 | Page 2

Rocking Hymn 209
A Cradle-Song of the Virgin 212
Whispering Palms 214
A Christmas Lullaby 215
The Virgin's Cradle-Hymn 216
The Sovereign 217
By the Cradle-Side 219
The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus 221
A Bedside Ditty 230
Given Back on Christmas Morn 231
A Lulling Song 237
Good-Night 239
FOOTNOTES:
[A] By the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
[B] By the courtesy of The Century Company.
[C] By the courtesy of Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls.
_Legends in Song._
"Tell sweet old tales,?Sing songs as we sit bending o'er the hearth,?Till the lamp flickers and the memory fails."
_Frederick Tennyson._
THE HALLOWED TIME.
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes?Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,?The bird of dawning singeth all night long;?And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;?The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,?No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,?So hallowed and so gracious is the time.
_Shakespeare._
ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.
This is the month, and this the happy morn,?Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,?Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,?Our great redemption from above did bring;?For so the holy sages once did sing,?That he our deadly forfeit should release,?And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious form, that light insufferable,?And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,?Wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-table?To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,?He laid aside; and, here with us to be,?Forsook the courts of everlasting day,?And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein?Afford a present to the Infant-God??Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain?To welcome him to this his new abode,?Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,?Hath took no print of the approaching light,?And all the spangled host kept watch in squadron bright?
See, how from far, upon the eastern road,?The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet;?O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,?And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;?Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet,?And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,?From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.
THE HYMN.
It was the winter wild,?While the heaven-born Child?All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;?Nature in awe to him,?Had doff'd her gaudy trim,?With her great Master so to sympathize:?It was no season then for her?To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Only with speeches fair?She woos the gentle air?To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;?And on her naked shame,?Pollute with sinful blame,?The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw;?Confounded, that her Maker's eyes?Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
But he, her fears to cease,?Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;?She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding?Down through the turning sphere,?His ready Harbinger,?With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;?And, waving wide her myrtle wand,?She strikes an universal peace through sea and land.
No war, or battle's sound?Was heard the world around;?The idle spear and shield were high up-hung;?The hooked chariot stood?Unstain'd with hostile blood;?The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;?And kings sat still with awful eye,?As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.
But peaceful was the night?Wherein the Prince of Light?His reign of peace upon the earth began:?The winds, with wonder whist,?Smoothly the waters kist,?Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,?Who now hath quite forgot to rave,?While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.
The stars, with deep amaze,?Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze,?Bending one way their precious influence;?And will not take their flight,?For all the morning light,?Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;?But in their glimmering orbs did glow,?Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
And, though the shady gloom?Had given day her room,?The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,?And hid his head for shame,?As his inferior flame?The new-enlighten'd world no more should need.?He saw a greater Sun appear?Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn,?Or e'er the point of dawn,?Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;?Full little thought they then?That the mighty Pan?Was kindly come to live with them below;?Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,?Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
When such music sweet?Their hearts and ears did greet,?As never was by mortal fingers strook;?Divinely-warbled voice?Answering the stringed noise,?As all their souls in blissful rapture took;?The air, such pleasure loth to lose,?With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.
Nature that heard such sound,?Beneath the hollow round?Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling,?Now was almost won?To think her part was done,?And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;?She knew such harmony alone?Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union.
At last surrounds their sight?A globe of circular light,?That with long beams the shame-faced night array'd;?The helmed cherubim,?And sworded seraphim,?Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd,?Harping in loud and solemn quire,?With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir.
Such music as, 'tis said,?Before was never made,?But when of old the sons of morning sung,?While the Creator great?His