268
CHRISTMAS.
RIGHT dawns the Christmas morn; yon clear, cold skySpreads o'er the earth a cloudless canopy;
All Nature smiles, and e'en her sternest hour.
Her deep mid-winter, feels the genial power
Of that glad day, when first the strain began,
"Glory to God on high, and peace to man."
Oh, blessed season! how thy welcome calm
Falls on the hurrying, restless world, like balm!
It seems a foretaste of a holier clime,
A pause amid the ceaseless whirl of time,
When all may gird them for another year,
And find fresh strength to bear, fresh hope to cheer.
E'en 'mid the crowded city's loud turmoil,
Its busy crowds and round of endless toil,
A welcome shadow in a weary land
Thy coming seems. To thee the hardy band
Of labour's sons, in every varied sphere,
Look forward through the long and weary year,
And hail thy welcome morn, with hearts that seem
To drink fresh youth beneath thy wintry beam,
And in the joyous music of thy chimes,
Forget past cares, and hope for better times.
Falls on the hurrying, restless world, like balm!
It seems a foretaste of a holier clime,
A pause amid the ceaseless whirl of time,
When all may gird them for another year,
And find fresh strength to bear, fresh hope to cheer.
E'en 'mid the crowded city's loud turmoil,
Its busy crowds and round of endless toil,
A welcome shadow in a weary land
Thy coming seems. To thee the hardy band
Of labour's sons, in every varied sphere,
Look forward through the long and weary year,
And hail thy welcome morn, with hearts that seem
To drink fresh youth beneath thy wintry beam,
And in the joyous music of thy chimes,
Forget past cares, and hope for better times.
