W. J. BLEW.

NIGHT is set in, the stars their lamps are raising;

Each dewy flower hath closed its perfumed chalice; O'er the blue hills the city lights are blazing,

And the gay cressets gleam in cot and palace. Down the green sheep-tracks rest the flocks enfolden,

Round their still cotes the hinds their fires are waking,

While in the homes of Bethlehem lie holden

Eyes all unconscious of the mystery breaking.

Oh, wonder of all wonders,

The hinds their watch are keeping,

A babe is in the manger

Christ Jesus there is sleeping;

The oxen round him lowing,

The ass his forehead bowing,

The maiden mother kneeling,

While night is o'er them stealing.

Soon shall a fire-flood kindle up the horizon,
Paling the night stars in their fairy shining,

Paling the broad sun at his first uprising,

Paling the bright moon at his red declining.
Hark, through the opened lattice of Heaven's portals
Soundeth-" To God be glory in the highest,

Peace be on earth; Good will to loving mortals."
Peace to thee, Christian, while with joy thou criest.

Oh, wonder of all wonders,

The hinds their watch are keeping,

A babe is in the manger

Christ Jesus there is sleeping;

Where consecrated branches spread
Their weeping tendrils o'er the dead;
While there the elm and sable yew
Lend all their ruggedness to view,
Nor shield they now with leafy bloom
The villager's unsculptured tomb;

As when, with summer foliage crowned,
They hid from gaze each little mound.
Lo, where a goodly blooming train,
The maiden artless, and the swain;
They hear the summons from afar,
And gather where the holy are.
The aged sire there bends his way,
No staff his feeble arm to stay,
But one whose joy has been to share,
As now, thro' life his pious prayer.
They hie their tribute just to pay

To Him who lengthened has their day;

Within yon deeply shaded pile

Where meek Religion 's seen to smile,
As if the wayward to beguile;

While decked with modest evergreen

Her sanctuary may be seen;

A token sure of heavenly grace,
Befitting such a holy place.

The Squire upon his bended knee,
With all his family we see,
Gracing the velvet cushioned pew
With every meek observance due.
O may each humble heart now share
The Church's venerable prayer,
And may this day of all the year

CHRISTMAS TIME.

The best and holiest appear:

And 'mid our deep affliction show

The bliss unmerited below,

Which Christ descended to bestow.

CHRISTMAS TIME.

JOHN CLARE.

GLAD Christmas comes, and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now,

E'en want will dry its tears in mirth,

And crown him with a holly bough; Though tramping 'neath a winter sky, O'er snowy paths and rimy stiles, The housewife sets her spinning by,

To bid him welcome with her smiles.

Each house is swept the day before,

And windows stuck with evergreens,

The snow is besomed from the door,

And comfort crowns the cottage scenes.

Gilt holly with its thorny pricks,

And yew, and box, with berries small,

These deck the unused candlesticks,

And pictures hanging by the wall.

Neighbours resume their annual cheer,

Wishing, with smiles and spirits high, Glad Christmas and a happy year,

To every morning passer-by;

Milkmaids their Christmas journeys go,
Accompanied by a favoured swain ;
And children pace the crumpling snow,
To taste their granny's cake again.

The shepherd now no more afraid,

Since custom doth the chance bestow,

Starts up to kiss the giggling maid,
Beneath the branch of mistletoe,
That 'neath each cottage beam is seen,

With pearl-like berries shining gay; The shadow still of what hath been,

Which fashion yearly fades away,