CHRISTMAS.

Solo.’Twas eighteen hundred years ago,Not in a region of ice and snow,But far in the land of the early morn,The oldest of lands, our Christ was born.Concert.Of all the joy-days under the sun,Of all the holidays, there’s but oneThat comes to the heart, and clings to the home—Christmas has come!Solo.Still through the length of the multiplied years,Sunshine of pleasure, and rainfall of tears,Changes and growth in wonderful ways,Christmas remains the great day of days.Concert.The day of the hope that casteth out fear,The day of all days that brings good cheerIn the country’s peace and the city’s hum—Christmas has come!Solo.Now in the uttermost ends of the earthThe story is told of the Christ-child’s birth;And millions, wherever the sun’s rays fall,Are kin in the hope that is dear to all.Concert.All over the lands and far out on the seasIs a lifting of voices and bowing of knees;And alike to us all, if we rest or roam,Christmas has come!Solo.Wherever the blessings of mortals increase,With customs and laws that give joy and peace;Where science and art yield comfort and bliss,All over the world there is no day like this.Concert.Of all the joy-days under the sun,Of all the holidays, there’s but oneThat touches the heart and clings to the home—Christmas has come!

Solo.’Twas eighteen hundred years ago,Not in a region of ice and snow,But far in the land of the early morn,The oldest of lands, our Christ was born.

Solo.’Twas eighteen hundred years ago,

Not in a region of ice and snow,

But far in the land of the early morn,

The oldest of lands, our Christ was born.

Concert.Of all the joy-days under the sun,Of all the holidays, there’s but oneThat comes to the heart, and clings to the home—Christmas has come!

Concert.Of all the joy-days under the sun,

Of all the holidays, there’s but one

That comes to the heart, and clings to the home—

Christmas has come!

Solo.Still through the length of the multiplied years,Sunshine of pleasure, and rainfall of tears,Changes and growth in wonderful ways,Christmas remains the great day of days.

Solo.Still through the length of the multiplied years,

Sunshine of pleasure, and rainfall of tears,

Changes and growth in wonderful ways,

Christmas remains the great day of days.

Concert.The day of the hope that casteth out fear,The day of all days that brings good cheerIn the country’s peace and the city’s hum—Christmas has come!

Concert.The day of the hope that casteth out fear,

The day of all days that brings good cheer

In the country’s peace and the city’s hum—

Christmas has come!

Solo.Now in the uttermost ends of the earthThe story is told of the Christ-child’s birth;And millions, wherever the sun’s rays fall,Are kin in the hope that is dear to all.

Solo.Now in the uttermost ends of the earth

The story is told of the Christ-child’s birth;

And millions, wherever the sun’s rays fall,

Are kin in the hope that is dear to all.

Concert.All over the lands and far out on the seasIs a lifting of voices and bowing of knees;And alike to us all, if we rest or roam,Christmas has come!

Concert.All over the lands and far out on the seas

Is a lifting of voices and bowing of knees;

And alike to us all, if we rest or roam,

Christmas has come!

Solo.Wherever the blessings of mortals increase,With customs and laws that give joy and peace;Where science and art yield comfort and bliss,All over the world there is no day like this.

Solo.Wherever the blessings of mortals increase,

With customs and laws that give joy and peace;

Where science and art yield comfort and bliss,

All over the world there is no day like this.

Concert.Of all the joy-days under the sun,Of all the holidays, there’s but oneThat touches the heart and clings to the home—Christmas has come!

Concert.Of all the joy-days under the sun,

Of all the holidays, there’s but one

That touches the heart and clings to the home—

Christmas has come!

Sir Walter Scott.

Heap on more wood!—the wind is chill;But, let it whistle as it will,We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.Each age has deemed the new-born yearThe fittest time for festal cheer.And well our Christmas sires of oldLoved, when the year its course had rolledAnd brought blithe Christmas back againWith all its hospitable train,With social and religious riteTo honor all the holy night.On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;On Christmas-eve the mass was sung.Then opened wide the Baron’s hallTo vassal, tenant, serf, and all;Power laid his rod of rule aside,And Ceremony doffed her pride.All hailed with uncontrolled delightAnd general voice the happy night,That to the cottage, as the crown,Brought tidings of salvation down.The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,Went roaring up the chimney wide;The huge hall-table’s oaken face,Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace,Bore then upon its massive boardNo mark to part the squire and lord.Then came the merry maskers inAnd carols roared with blithesome din.If unmelodious was the song,It was a hearty note and strong.England was merry England whenOld Christmas brought his sports again.’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft could cheerThe poor man’s heart through half the year.

Heap on more wood!—the wind is chill;

But, let it whistle as it will,

We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.

Each age has deemed the new-born year

The fittest time for festal cheer.

And well our Christmas sires of old

Loved, when the year its course had rolled

And brought blithe Christmas back again

With all its hospitable train,

With social and religious rite

To honor all the holy night.

On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;

On Christmas-eve the mass was sung.

Then opened wide the Baron’s hall

To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;

Power laid his rod of rule aside,

And Ceremony doffed her pride.

All hailed with uncontrolled delight

And general voice the happy night,

That to the cottage, as the crown,

Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,

Went roaring up the chimney wide;

The huge hall-table’s oaken face,

Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace,

Bore then upon its massive board

No mark to part the squire and lord.

Then came the merry maskers in

And carols roared with blithesome din.

If unmelodious was the song,

It was a hearty note and strong.

England was merry England when

Old Christmas brought his sports again.

’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;

’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer

The poor man’s heart through half the year.

Bertha S. Scranton.

Westminster is gray at midnight,With shadows from wall to wall;They have noiseless feet, these shadows,And make no sound as they fall.But I ween they will creep together,A goodly band to-night,Over a silent marble name,In the Christmas-eve twilight.All the tiny dear child-peopleWe hold in our hearts to-day,Who will live when that same marbleHas crumbled to dust away.“Little Em’ly’s” ghost that hauntethThe minster’s shadowy aisle,With the grave, sweet face of Agnes,And the child-wife Dora’s smile.Then will come, I ween, with the others,Poor Smike with his patient air,And the seven little Kenwigs,With their braided tails of hair.And Jenny Wren, I can promise,Will surely be there again,With her slanting rows of children,Crying, “Who is this in pain?”Little Nell will wake and listen,When the white, white world is stillAnd the great chimes through the midnightFrom the belfry tower thrill.The little Cratchits will hearkenAnd wait till the goose is done,And the voice of tiny Tim will cry,“God bless us every one!”But ah! for the living mournersOn either side of the sea,For whom no more the brave hand writes,The heart beats cheerily.And ah! for the saddened chambers,Where his watchers ever wait,They unto whom life yields but pain,And who keep its vigil late.Westminster is gray with shadows,But his children never die!Through all the Christmas times to comeWill his carol notes ring high.The dreamer has but awakened,And the master’s work is done,But the bells on Time’s great steepleRing, “God bless us every one!”

Westminster is gray at midnight,

With shadows from wall to wall;

They have noiseless feet, these shadows,

And make no sound as they fall.

But I ween they will creep together,

A goodly band to-night,

Over a silent marble name,

In the Christmas-eve twilight.

All the tiny dear child-peopleWe hold in our hearts to-day,Who will live when that same marbleHas crumbled to dust away.“Little Em’ly’s” ghost that hauntethThe minster’s shadowy aisle,With the grave, sweet face of Agnes,And the child-wife Dora’s smile.

All the tiny dear child-people

We hold in our hearts to-day,

Who will live when that same marble

Has crumbled to dust away.

“Little Em’ly’s” ghost that haunteth

The minster’s shadowy aisle,

With the grave, sweet face of Agnes,

And the child-wife Dora’s smile.

Then will come, I ween, with the others,Poor Smike with his patient air,And the seven little Kenwigs,With their braided tails of hair.And Jenny Wren, I can promise,Will surely be there again,With her slanting rows of children,Crying, “Who is this in pain?”

Then will come, I ween, with the others,

Poor Smike with his patient air,

And the seven little Kenwigs,

With their braided tails of hair.

And Jenny Wren, I can promise,

Will surely be there again,

With her slanting rows of children,

Crying, “Who is this in pain?”

Little Nell will wake and listen,When the white, white world is stillAnd the great chimes through the midnightFrom the belfry tower thrill.The little Cratchits will hearkenAnd wait till the goose is done,And the voice of tiny Tim will cry,“God bless us every one!”

Little Nell will wake and listen,

When the white, white world is still

And the great chimes through the midnight

From the belfry tower thrill.

The little Cratchits will hearken

And wait till the goose is done,

And the voice of tiny Tim will cry,

“God bless us every one!”

But ah! for the living mournersOn either side of the sea,For whom no more the brave hand writes,The heart beats cheerily.And ah! for the saddened chambers,Where his watchers ever wait,They unto whom life yields but pain,And who keep its vigil late.

But ah! for the living mourners

On either side of the sea,

For whom no more the brave hand writes,

The heart beats cheerily.

And ah! for the saddened chambers,

Where his watchers ever wait,

They unto whom life yields but pain,

And who keep its vigil late.

Westminster is gray with shadows,But his children never die!Through all the Christmas times to comeWill his carol notes ring high.The dreamer has but awakened,And the master’s work is done,But the bells on Time’s great steepleRing, “God bless us every one!”

Westminster is gray with shadows,

But his children never die!

Through all the Christmas times to come

Will his carol notes ring high.

The dreamer has but awakened,

And the master’s work is done,

But the bells on Time’s great steeple

Ring, “God bless us every one!”

[In the following selection the numbered stanzas can be given in concert with a musical accompaniment.]

QUEBEC—1635.

Hezekiah Butterworth.

’Tis the fortress of St. Louis,The Church of Recoverance,And hang o’er the crystal crossesThe silver lilies of France.In the fortress a knight lies dying,In the church are priests at prayer,And the bell of the Angelus sweetlyThrobs out on the crimsoned air.The noblest knight is dyingThat ever served a king,And he looks from the fortress windowAs the bells of the Angelus ring.Old scenes come back to his vision,Again his ship’s canvases swellIn the harbor of gray St. Malo,In the haven of fair Rochelle.He sees the emparadised oceanThat he dared when his years were young,The lagoons where his lateen-sail driftedAs the Southern Cross over it hung;Acadie, the Richelieu’s waters,The lakes through the midlands that rolled,And the cross that he planted whereverHe lifted the lilies of gold.He lists to the Angelus ringing,He folds his white hands on his breast,And far o’er the clouded forestsA star verges low in the West!I.“Star on the bosom of the West,Chime on, O bell, chime on, O bell!To-night with visions I am blest,And filled with light ineffable!No angels sing in crystal air,No clouds ’neath seraphs’ footsteps glow,No feet of seers o’er mountains fairA portent follows far; but lo!A star is glowing in the West,The world shall follow it from far—Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!Shine on, shine on, O Western Star!II.“In yonder church that storms have iced—I founded it upon this rock—I’ve daily kissed the feet of Christ,In worship with my little flock.But I am dying—I depart,Like Simeon old my glad feet go,A star is shining in my heart.Such as the Magi saw; and lo!A star is shining in the West,The world shall hail it from afar!Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!Shine on, shine on, O Western Star!III.“Beside the Fleur de Lis of France,The faith I’ve planted in the North,Ye messengers of Heaven, advance;Ye mysteries of the Cross, shine forth!I know the value of the earth,I’ve learned its lessons; it is done;One soul alone outweighs in worthThe fairest kingdom of the sun.Star on the bosom of the West,My dim eyes follow thee afar.Chime on, chime on, O Christmas bells!Shine on, shine on, O golden Star!IV.“What rapture! hear the sweet choirs sing,While death’s cold shadows o’er me fall,Beneath the lilies of my King—Go, light the lamps in yonder hall.Mine eyes have seen the Christ Star glowAbove the New World’s temple gates.Go forth, celestial heralds, go!Earth’s fairest empire thee awaits!Star on the bosom of the West,What feet shall follow thee from far?Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!Shine on forever, golden Star!”’Twas Christmas morn; the sun arose’Mid clouds o’er the St. Lawrence broad,And fell a sprinkling of the snowsAs from the uplifted hand of God.Dead in the fortress lay the knight,His white hands crossed upon his breast,Dead, he whose clear prophetic sightBeheld the Christ Star in the West.That morning, ’mid the turrets white,The low flags told the empire’s last,They hung the lilies o’er the knight,And by the lilies set the cross.Long, on Quebec, immortal heights,Has Champlain slept, the knight of God;The Western Star shines on, and lightsThe growing empire, fair and broad.And though are gone the knights of France,Still lives the spirit of the North;The heralds of the Star advance,And Truth’s eternal light shines forth.

’Tis the fortress of St. Louis,

The Church of Recoverance,

And hang o’er the crystal crosses

The silver lilies of France.

In the fortress a knight lies dying,

In the church are priests at prayer,

And the bell of the Angelus sweetly

Throbs out on the crimsoned air.

The noblest knight is dyingThat ever served a king,And he looks from the fortress windowAs the bells of the Angelus ring.Old scenes come back to his vision,Again his ship’s canvases swellIn the harbor of gray St. Malo,In the haven of fair Rochelle.He sees the emparadised oceanThat he dared when his years were young,The lagoons where his lateen-sail driftedAs the Southern Cross over it hung;Acadie, the Richelieu’s waters,The lakes through the midlands that rolled,And the cross that he planted whereverHe lifted the lilies of gold.He lists to the Angelus ringing,He folds his white hands on his breast,And far o’er the clouded forestsA star verges low in the West!

The noblest knight is dying

That ever served a king,

And he looks from the fortress window

As the bells of the Angelus ring.

Old scenes come back to his vision,

Again his ship’s canvases swell

In the harbor of gray St. Malo,

In the haven of fair Rochelle.

He sees the emparadised ocean

That he dared when his years were young,

The lagoons where his lateen-sail drifted

As the Southern Cross over it hung;

Acadie, the Richelieu’s waters,

The lakes through the midlands that rolled,

And the cross that he planted wherever

He lifted the lilies of gold.

He lists to the Angelus ringing,

He folds his white hands on his breast,

And far o’er the clouded forests

A star verges low in the West!

“Star on the bosom of the West,Chime on, O bell, chime on, O bell!To-night with visions I am blest,And filled with light ineffable!No angels sing in crystal air,No clouds ’neath seraphs’ footsteps glow,No feet of seers o’er mountains fairA portent follows far; but lo!A star is glowing in the West,The world shall follow it from far—Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!Shine on, shine on, O Western Star!

“Star on the bosom of the West,

Chime on, O bell, chime on, O bell!

To-night with visions I am blest,

And filled with light ineffable!

No angels sing in crystal air,

No clouds ’neath seraphs’ footsteps glow,

No feet of seers o’er mountains fair

A portent follows far; but lo!

A star is glowing in the West,

The world shall follow it from far—

Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!

Shine on, shine on, O Western Star!

II.

“In yonder church that storms have iced—I founded it upon this rock—I’ve daily kissed the feet of Christ,In worship with my little flock.But I am dying—I depart,Like Simeon old my glad feet go,A star is shining in my heart.Such as the Magi saw; and lo!A star is shining in the West,The world shall hail it from afar!Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!Shine on, shine on, O Western Star!

“In yonder church that storms have iced—

I founded it upon this rock—

I’ve daily kissed the feet of Christ,

In worship with my little flock.

But I am dying—I depart,

Like Simeon old my glad feet go,

A star is shining in my heart.

Such as the Magi saw; and lo!

A star is shining in the West,

The world shall hail it from afar!

Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!

Shine on, shine on, O Western Star!

III.

“Beside the Fleur de Lis of France,The faith I’ve planted in the North,Ye messengers of Heaven, advance;Ye mysteries of the Cross, shine forth!I know the value of the earth,I’ve learned its lessons; it is done;One soul alone outweighs in worthThe fairest kingdom of the sun.Star on the bosom of the West,My dim eyes follow thee afar.Chime on, chime on, O Christmas bells!Shine on, shine on, O golden Star!

“Beside the Fleur de Lis of France,

The faith I’ve planted in the North,

Ye messengers of Heaven, advance;

Ye mysteries of the Cross, shine forth!

I know the value of the earth,

I’ve learned its lessons; it is done;

One soul alone outweighs in worth

The fairest kingdom of the sun.

Star on the bosom of the West,

My dim eyes follow thee afar.

Chime on, chime on, O Christmas bells!

Shine on, shine on, O golden Star!

IV.

“What rapture! hear the sweet choirs sing,While death’s cold shadows o’er me fall,Beneath the lilies of my King—Go, light the lamps in yonder hall.Mine eyes have seen the Christ Star glowAbove the New World’s temple gates.Go forth, celestial heralds, go!Earth’s fairest empire thee awaits!Star on the bosom of the West,What feet shall follow thee from far?Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!Shine on forever, golden Star!”

“What rapture! hear the sweet choirs sing,

While death’s cold shadows o’er me fall,

Beneath the lilies of my King—

Go, light the lamps in yonder hall.

Mine eyes have seen the Christ Star glow

Above the New World’s temple gates.

Go forth, celestial heralds, go!

Earth’s fairest empire thee awaits!

Star on the bosom of the West,

What feet shall follow thee from far?

Chime on, O Christmas bells, chime on!

Shine on forever, golden Star!”

’Twas Christmas morn; the sun arose’Mid clouds o’er the St. Lawrence broad,And fell a sprinkling of the snowsAs from the uplifted hand of God.Dead in the fortress lay the knight,His white hands crossed upon his breast,Dead, he whose clear prophetic sightBeheld the Christ Star in the West.That morning, ’mid the turrets white,The low flags told the empire’s last,They hung the lilies o’er the knight,And by the lilies set the cross.

’Twas Christmas morn; the sun arose

’Mid clouds o’er the St. Lawrence broad,

And fell a sprinkling of the snows

As from the uplifted hand of God.

Dead in the fortress lay the knight,

His white hands crossed upon his breast,

Dead, he whose clear prophetic sight

Beheld the Christ Star in the West.

That morning, ’mid the turrets white,

The low flags told the empire’s last,

They hung the lilies o’er the knight,

And by the lilies set the cross.

Long, on Quebec, immortal heights,Has Champlain slept, the knight of God;The Western Star shines on, and lightsThe growing empire, fair and broad.And though are gone the knights of France,Still lives the spirit of the North;The heralds of the Star advance,And Truth’s eternal light shines forth.

Long, on Quebec, immortal heights,

Has Champlain slept, the knight of God;

The Western Star shines on, and lights

The growing empire, fair and broad.

And though are gone the knights of France,

Still lives the spirit of the North;

The heralds of the Star advance,

And Truth’s eternal light shines forth.

(A Jewish Legend.)

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

I like that old sweet legendNot found in Holy Writ,And wish that John or MatthewHad made Bible out of it.But though it is not Gospel,There is no law to holdThe heart from growing betterThat hears the story told:How the little Jewish childrenUpon a summer dayWent down across the meadowsWith the Child Christ to play,And in the gold-green valleyWhere low the reed-grass lay,They made them mock mud-sparrowsOut of the meadow-clay.So, when these all were fashionedAnd ranged in flocks about,“Now,” said the little Jesus,“We’ll let the birds fly out.”Then all the happy childrenDid call, and coax, and cry—Each to his own mud-sparrow:“Fly, as I bid you—fly!”But earthen were the sparrows,And earth they did remain,Though loud the Jewish childrenCried out and cried again—Except the one bird onlyThe little Lord Christ made.The earth that owned Him Master,—His earth heard and obeyed.Softly He leaned and whispered:“Fly up to heaven! fly!”And swift His little sparrowWent soaring to the sky.And silent all the childrenStood awe-struck looking on,Till deep into the heavensThe bird of earth had gone.I like to think for playmateWe have the Lord Christ still,And that still above our weakness,He works His mighty will;That all our little playthingsOf earthen hopes and joysShall be by His commandmentChanged into heavenly toys.Our souls are like the sparrowsImprisoned in the clay—Bless Him who came to give them wings,Upon a Christmas Day!

I like that old sweet legendNot found in Holy Writ,And wish that John or MatthewHad made Bible out of it.

I like that old sweet legend

Not found in Holy Writ,

And wish that John or Matthew

Had made Bible out of it.

But though it is not Gospel,There is no law to holdThe heart from growing betterThat hears the story told:

But though it is not Gospel,

There is no law to hold

The heart from growing better

That hears the story told:

How the little Jewish childrenUpon a summer dayWent down across the meadowsWith the Child Christ to play,

How the little Jewish children

Upon a summer day

Went down across the meadows

With the Child Christ to play,

And in the gold-green valleyWhere low the reed-grass lay,They made them mock mud-sparrowsOut of the meadow-clay.

And in the gold-green valley

Where low the reed-grass lay,

They made them mock mud-sparrows

Out of the meadow-clay.

So, when these all were fashionedAnd ranged in flocks about,“Now,” said the little Jesus,“We’ll let the birds fly out.”

So, when these all were fashioned

And ranged in flocks about,

“Now,” said the little Jesus,

“We’ll let the birds fly out.”

Then all the happy childrenDid call, and coax, and cry—Each to his own mud-sparrow:“Fly, as I bid you—fly!”

Then all the happy children

Did call, and coax, and cry—

Each to his own mud-sparrow:

“Fly, as I bid you—fly!”

But earthen were the sparrows,And earth they did remain,Though loud the Jewish childrenCried out and cried again—

But earthen were the sparrows,

And earth they did remain,

Though loud the Jewish children

Cried out and cried again—

Except the one bird onlyThe little Lord Christ made.The earth that owned Him Master,—His earth heard and obeyed.

Except the one bird only

The little Lord Christ made.

The earth that owned Him Master,

—His earth heard and obeyed.

Softly He leaned and whispered:“Fly up to heaven! fly!”And swift His little sparrowWent soaring to the sky.

Softly He leaned and whispered:

“Fly up to heaven! fly!”

And swift His little sparrow

Went soaring to the sky.

And silent all the childrenStood awe-struck looking on,Till deep into the heavensThe bird of earth had gone.

And silent all the children

Stood awe-struck looking on,

Till deep into the heavens

The bird of earth had gone.

I like to think for playmateWe have the Lord Christ still,And that still above our weakness,He works His mighty will;

I like to think for playmate

We have the Lord Christ still,

And that still above our weakness,

He works His mighty will;

That all our little playthingsOf earthen hopes and joysShall be by His commandmentChanged into heavenly toys.

That all our little playthings

Of earthen hopes and joys

Shall be by His commandment

Changed into heavenly toys.

Our souls are like the sparrowsImprisoned in the clay—Bless Him who came to give them wings,Upon a Christmas Day!

Our souls are like the sparrows

Imprisoned in the clay—

Bless Him who came to give them wings,

Upon a Christmas Day!

Rev. Minot J. Savage.

[For concert recitation. In order to avoid monotony in the repetition of the question, the first line of the first stanza can be read with direct falling slides; of the second, with direct rising slides; of the third, with emphasis on the first word; of the fourth, with a perfect monotone; of the fifth, with emphasis on the second word; of the sixth, with direct rising slides.]

I.When will He come?A captive nation dwell uponThe river-banks of Babylon;What is the word they speak?The prophet’s eye looks down the yearsAnd kindles as the sight appears—“Messiah! him ye seek!Lo! the Lord’s anointed comes! and thenShall dwell the heavenly kingdom among men!”II.When will He come?The Christian answers, “Long agoThe King was born in manger low.Him wicked men have slain,And now we wait with longing eye,And fix our look upon the sky;For He will come again,We pray and watch since He has gone away;For when He comes He’ll bring the perfect day.”III.When will He come?“Lo, here! Lo, there!” the foolish shout,And think that God will come without.But ever has it been,In spite of fabled tales that tellOf magic and of miracle,That He has come within.Only through man, and man alone,Does God build up his righteous throne.IV.When will He come?When iron first was hammered out;When far shores heard the seaman’s shout;When letters first were known;When separate tribes to nations grew;When men their brotherhood first knew;When law first reached the throne:Each separate upward step that man has trodHas been a coming of the living God.V.When will He come?While you are looking far away,His tireless feet are nigh to-day;Each true word is His voice.All honest work, all noble trust,Each deed that lifts man from the dust,Each pure and manly choice,Each upward stair man’s toil-worn feet do climb,Is just another birth of God sublime.VI.When will He come?He’ll come to-morrow if you will;But cease your idle sitting still.Yes, He will come to-day.He will not come in clouds; but throughYour doing all that you can doTo help the right alway.Do honest work, and to the truth be true,And God already has appeared in you.

When will He come?A captive nation dwell uponThe river-banks of Babylon;What is the word they speak?The prophet’s eye looks down the yearsAnd kindles as the sight appears—“Messiah! him ye seek!Lo! the Lord’s anointed comes! and thenShall dwell the heavenly kingdom among men!”

When will He come?

A captive nation dwell upon

The river-banks of Babylon;

What is the word they speak?

The prophet’s eye looks down the years

And kindles as the sight appears—

“Messiah! him ye seek!

Lo! the Lord’s anointed comes! and then

Shall dwell the heavenly kingdom among men!”

II.

When will He come?The Christian answers, “Long agoThe King was born in manger low.Him wicked men have slain,And now we wait with longing eye,And fix our look upon the sky;For He will come again,We pray and watch since He has gone away;For when He comes He’ll bring the perfect day.”

When will He come?

The Christian answers, “Long ago

The King was born in manger low.

Him wicked men have slain,

And now we wait with longing eye,

And fix our look upon the sky;

For He will come again,

We pray and watch since He has gone away;

For when He comes He’ll bring the perfect day.”

III.

When will He come?“Lo, here! Lo, there!” the foolish shout,And think that God will come without.But ever has it been,In spite of fabled tales that tellOf magic and of miracle,That He has come within.Only through man, and man alone,Does God build up his righteous throne.

When will He come?

“Lo, here! Lo, there!” the foolish shout,

And think that God will come without.

But ever has it been,

In spite of fabled tales that tell

Of magic and of miracle,

That He has come within.

Only through man, and man alone,

Does God build up his righteous throne.

IV.

When will He come?When iron first was hammered out;When far shores heard the seaman’s shout;When letters first were known;When separate tribes to nations grew;When men their brotherhood first knew;When law first reached the throne:Each separate upward step that man has trodHas been a coming of the living God.

When will He come?

When iron first was hammered out;

When far shores heard the seaman’s shout;

When letters first were known;

When separate tribes to nations grew;

When men their brotherhood first knew;

When law first reached the throne:

Each separate upward step that man has trod

Has been a coming of the living God.

When will He come?While you are looking far away,His tireless feet are nigh to-day;Each true word is His voice.All honest work, all noble trust,Each deed that lifts man from the dust,Each pure and manly choice,Each upward stair man’s toil-worn feet do climb,Is just another birth of God sublime.

When will He come?

While you are looking far away,

His tireless feet are nigh to-day;

Each true word is His voice.

All honest work, all noble trust,

Each deed that lifts man from the dust,

Each pure and manly choice,

Each upward stair man’s toil-worn feet do climb,

Is just another birth of God sublime.

VI.

When will He come?He’ll come to-morrow if you will;But cease your idle sitting still.Yes, He will come to-day.He will not come in clouds; but throughYour doing all that you can doTo help the right alway.Do honest work, and to the truth be true,And God already has appeared in you.

When will He come?

He’ll come to-morrow if you will;

But cease your idle sitting still.

Yes, He will come to-day.

He will not come in clouds; but through

Your doing all that you can do

To help the right alway.

Do honest work, and to the truth be true,

And God already has appeared in you.

Dinah Mulock Craik.

“Mother, oh, make me a pair of wings,Like the Christ-child’s adorning;Blue as the sky, with a gold star-eye—I’ll wear them on Christmas morning.”The mother worked with a careless heartAll through that merry morning;Happy and blind, nor saw behindThe shadow that gives no warning.He struck—and over the little faceA sudden change came creeping;Twelve struggling hours against Death’s fierce powers,And then—he has left her sleeping.Strange sleep that no mother’s kiss can wake!Lay her pretty wings beside her;Strew white flowers sweet on her hands and feet,And under the white snow hide her.For the Christ-child called her out of her play,And, thus our earth-life scorning,She went away. What, dead, we say?She was bornthat Christmas morning.Wide Awake.

“Mother, oh, make me a pair of wings,Like the Christ-child’s adorning;Blue as the sky, with a gold star-eye—I’ll wear them on Christmas morning.”

“Mother, oh, make me a pair of wings,

Like the Christ-child’s adorning;

Blue as the sky, with a gold star-eye—

I’ll wear them on Christmas morning.”

The mother worked with a careless heartAll through that merry morning;Happy and blind, nor saw behindThe shadow that gives no warning.

The mother worked with a careless heart

All through that merry morning;

Happy and blind, nor saw behind

The shadow that gives no warning.

He struck—and over the little faceA sudden change came creeping;Twelve struggling hours against Death’s fierce powers,And then—he has left her sleeping.

He struck—and over the little face

A sudden change came creeping;

Twelve struggling hours against Death’s fierce powers,

And then—he has left her sleeping.

Strange sleep that no mother’s kiss can wake!Lay her pretty wings beside her;Strew white flowers sweet on her hands and feet,And under the white snow hide her.

Strange sleep that no mother’s kiss can wake!

Lay her pretty wings beside her;

Strew white flowers sweet on her hands and feet,

And under the white snow hide her.

For the Christ-child called her out of her play,And, thus our earth-life scorning,She went away. What, dead, we say?She was bornthat Christmas morning.

For the Christ-child called her out of her play,

And, thus our earth-life scorning,

She went away. What, dead, we say?

She was bornthat Christmas morning.

Wide Awake.

Louisa Parsons Hopkins.

From Nazareth to Bethlehem,Their holy journey leading themBy silver-towered Jerusalem.Beneath the palm-tree’s tossing plume,Amid the harvest’s rich perfume,No house could give them rest or room.So entering at the wayside cave,Where mountain-rills the limestone lave,The child was born a world to save.They laid him in the manger white;The lowing oxen saw the sight,And wondered at the dazzling light.The mother’s heart in sacred blissCould dream no sweeter heaven than this,To greet her babe with mother’s kiss.And bending down with sacred awe,For a lost world the angels sawLove, the fulfilling of the law.

From Nazareth to Bethlehem,Their holy journey leading themBy silver-towered Jerusalem.

From Nazareth to Bethlehem,

Their holy journey leading them

By silver-towered Jerusalem.

Beneath the palm-tree’s tossing plume,Amid the harvest’s rich perfume,No house could give them rest or room.

Beneath the palm-tree’s tossing plume,

Amid the harvest’s rich perfume,

No house could give them rest or room.

So entering at the wayside cave,Where mountain-rills the limestone lave,The child was born a world to save.

So entering at the wayside cave,

Where mountain-rills the limestone lave,

The child was born a world to save.

They laid him in the manger white;The lowing oxen saw the sight,And wondered at the dazzling light.

They laid him in the manger white;

The lowing oxen saw the sight,

And wondered at the dazzling light.

The mother’s heart in sacred blissCould dream no sweeter heaven than this,To greet her babe with mother’s kiss.

The mother’s heart in sacred bliss

Could dream no sweeter heaven than this,

To greet her babe with mother’s kiss.

And bending down with sacred awe,For a lost world the angels sawLove, the fulfilling of the law.

And bending down with sacred awe,

For a lost world the angels saw

Love, the fulfilling of the law.

A Christmas day, to be perfect, should be clear and cold, with holly branches in berry, a blazing fire, a dinner with mince-pies, and games and forfeits in the evening. You cannot have it in perfection if you are very fine and fashionable. A Christmas evening should, if possible, finish with music. It carries off the excitement without abruptness, and sheds a repose over the conclusion of enjoyment.—Leigh Hunt.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

[For musical accompaniment]

I heard the bells on Christmas-dayTheir old, familiar carols play,And wild and sweetThe words repeatOf peace on earth, good-will to men!And thought how, as the day had come,The belfries of all ChristendomHad rolled alongThe unbroken songOf peace on earth, good-will to men!Till, ringing, swinging on its way,The world revolved from night to dayA voice, a chime,A chant sublimeOf peace on earth, good-will to men!Then from each black, accursèd mouthThe cannon thundered in the SouthAnd with the soundThe carols drownedOf peace on earth, good-will to men!It was as if an earthquake rentThe hearth-stones of a continent,And made forlornThe households bornOf peace on earth, good-will to men!And in despair I bowed my head;“There is no peace on earth,” I said;“For hate is strongAnd mocks the songOf peace on earth, good-will to men!”Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!The Wrong shall fail,The Right prevail,With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

I heard the bells on Christmas-dayTheir old, familiar carols play,And wild and sweetThe words repeatOf peace on earth, good-will to men!

I heard the bells on Christmas-day

Their old, familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat