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 powerOf that glad day, when first the strain began,"Glory to God on high, and peace to man."
Oh, blessed season! how thy welcome calmFalls 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 landThy coming seems. To thee the hardy bandOf labour's sons, in every varied sphere,Look forward through the long and weary year,And hail thy welcome morn, with hearts that seemTo drink fresh youth beneath thy wintry beam,And in the joyous music of thy chimes,Forget past cares, and hope for better times.But, 'mid the thoughts of high and holy things,The sacred memories which this season brings,How clear again before the mental eyeRise long-past scenes, and happy days gone by!How swiftly crowd upon our hearts again,Kindred and friends who met together then!Yes, all are there;—familiar faces comeTo fill with life our childhood's happy home,And well-known voices ring upon the ear,Whose blended tones earth ne'er again may hear.Those once close bands are broken: never moreShall meet below, that group who met of yore:No more shall mingle round the Christmas blaze,The laughing voices of those merry days.Oh, never more! some fill their quiet graves,And all, wide scattered on the world's rough waves,Share in the common lot of toil and strife,And bravely battle 'mid the war of life;Yet turn perchance like me, on this glad day,To long-past years, and loved ones far away,And, 'mid the mirth around them, breathe a sihhO'er hopes departed, and bright dreams gone by.
Yet think not that we murmur; if those dreamsOf morn have vanished, yet the midday beamsFall bright and calm around us; other ties,Far dearer, closer,—sweetest charitiesEntwine our heart of hearts, and bind us here,With all the purest joys that make life dear.Our loved ones cluster round us, and once moreWe see renewed in them our days of yore;Their merry voices, that so blithely ring,Sound like the echo of our own brief Spring:And as, with heart-warm blessing, fond caress,On this glad morn each upturned brow we press,We feel, whatever cares disturb us now,Yet, blessed, happy is our lot below:And pray, that every Christmas yet to come,May dawn as bright upon our peaceful home,And find us wiser, better, far more meetWith holy joy this sacred morn to greet:Thankful and glad to feel, with every closing year,Our earthly lot more blest,—our Heavenly Home more near.
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 powerOf that glad day, when first the strain began,"Glory to God on high, and peace to man."
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 powerOf that glad day, when first the strain began,"Glory to God on high, and peace to man."