Page:Poems Cook.djvu/371

Here's Christmas, and it seemeth well
That Conscience to our deeds should tell
The just result of all we've done,
And trace the way our sands have run.
Let us peruse the closely-seal'd;
The volume ever unreveal'd;
And see if we have said or thought
No evil thing that shall have brought
              Blots on our crest.

The heart is but a ledger-sheet
Where Right and Wrong in balance meet;
And well it is that we should see
Full often how "accounts" may be.
Old Christmas has a trick we find
Of bringing bills of every kind,
So, ere we drain the festive cup,
We'll look within and reckon up
              The debts we owe.

Too many of us get so wrapt
In "own dear self," that we are apt
To dwell much more on what our brothers
Should give to us than we to others.
Our grasp is quick to seize and hold
The kindness paid in moral gold,
But Equity, that bids us pass
The same again, oft sees, alas!
              Our palms more slow.

Let us not idly shirk the task,
But face ourselves, and boldly ask
Our conduct whether it has trod
The path of Mammon or of God?

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