And as when all the Summer trees are seen So bright and green,

The holly-leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than they;

But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the holly-tree?

So serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng,

So would I seem among the young and gay
More grave than they,

That in my age as cheerful I may be
As the green Winter of the holly-tree.

CHRISTMAS BELLS.

THE time draws near the birth of Christ :
The moon is hid, the night is still;

The Christmas bells from hill to hill

Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,

From far and near, on mead and moor,

Swell out and fail, as if a door

Were shut between me and the sound :

Each voice four changes on the wind,

That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,

Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Each heart throughout the gazing throng
What anxious gladness fills,

While slowly moved that star along
O'er Judah's sacred hills,

And softly fixed its mellow light

On distant Bethlehem's joyful night.

There, unknown to rich and great,
Or the perfumed halls of state,
Where the golden lamps so bright,
Mock the silence of the night,

And the strains of music tender

Rise and fall 'mid scenes of splendour,

The Prince of Peace, so young, so fair,
In lowly state was sleeping;
While near, with kind, parental care,
His mother watch was keeping.

The Magi viewed the bless'd of Heaven,
Their joy was full-their gifts were given.

Let the sound of the sweet harp of Judah arise!
Let the hymns of the Gentiles ascend to the skies!

HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS MORNING.

209

HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS MORNING.

AWAY with sorrow's sigh,

Our prayers are heard on high;

And through heaven's crystal door,

On this our earthly floor,

Comes meek-eyed Peace to walk with poor mortality.

In dead of night profound,

There breaks a seraph sound,

Of never-ending morn;

The Lord of Glory born

Within a holy grot on this our sullen ground.

Now with that shepherd crowd,

If it might be allowed,

We fain would enter there,

With awful hastening fear,

And kiss that cradle chaste in reverend worship bowed.

O sight of strange surprise
That fills our gazing eyes:

A manger coldly strewed,

And swaddling bands so rude,

A leaning mother poor, and Child that helpless lies.

Art Thou, O wondrous sight,

Of lights the very Light,

Who holdest in Thy hand

The sky, and sea, and land;

Who than the glorious heavens art more exceeding bright?

E E

'Tis so; Faith darts before,

And, through the cloud drawn o'er,

She sees the God of all:

Where angels prostrate fall,

Adoring, tremble still, and, trembling, still adore!

No thunders round Thee break,
Yet doth Thy silence speak

From that, Thy Teacher's seat,

To us around Thy feet,

To shun what flesh desires, what flesh abhors to seek.

A WINTER EVENING AT HOME.

FAIR Moon that at the chilly day's decline
Of sharp December, through my cottage pane
Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane ;
In thought, to scenes serene and still as thine,
Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey
Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way;
And this my fire, whose dim unequal light,
Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,
Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!
Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,
Shines clear and calm without; and, whilst I gaze,
I think, around me in this twilight gloom

I but remark mortality's sad doom

Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.