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LONG AGO.
In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.
Our G.o.d, heaven cannot hold Him, Nor earth sustain; Heaven and earth shall flee away When He comes to reign: In the bleak mid-winter A stable-place sufficed The Lord G.o.d Almighty, Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him whom cherubim Worship night and day, A breastful of milk And a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him whom angels Fall down before, The ox and a.s.s and camel Which adore.
Angels and archangels May have gathered there, Cherubim and seraphim Thronged the air; But only His mother, In her maiden bliss, Worshipped the Beloved With a kiss.
What can I give Him, Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; If I were a wise man, I would do my part: Yet what I can I give Him, Give my heart.
_Christina G. Rossetti._
[Ill.u.s.tration: "What Can I Give Him?"]
STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
When marshalled on the nightly plain The glitt'ring host bestud the sky, One star alone of all the train Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to G.o.d the chorus breaks From ev'ry host, from ev'ry gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks,-- It is the Star of Bethlehem!
Once on the raging seas I rode; The storm was loud, the night was dark; The ocean yawned, and rudely blew The wind that tossed my found'ring bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze; Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem, When suddenly a star arose,-- It was the Star of Bethlehem!
It was my guide, my light, my all; It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace.
Now safely moored, my perils o'er, I'll sing first in night's diadem, Forever and forever more,-- The Star, the Star of Bethlehem!
_Henry Kirke White._
NO ROOM.
Foot-sore and weary, Mary tried Some rest to seek, but was denied.
"There is no room," the blind ones cried.
Meekly the Virgin turned away, No voice entreating her to stay; There was no room for G.o.d that day.
No room for her, round whose tired feet Angels are bowed in transport sweet The mother of their G.o.d to greet.
No room for Him in whose small hand The troubled sea and mighty land Lie cradled like a grain of sand;
No room, O Babe Divine! for Thee That Christmas night; and even we Dare shut our hearts and turn the key.
In vain Thy pleading baby cry Strikes our deaf souls; we pa.s.s Thee by, Unsheltered 'neath the wintry sky.
No room for G.o.d! O Christ, that we Should bar our doors, nor ever see Our Saviour waiting patiently.
Fling wide the doors! Dear Christ, turn back!
The ashes on my hearth lie black-- Of light and warmth a total lack.
How can I bid Thee enter here Amid the desolation drear Of lukewarm love and craven fear?
What bleaker shelter can there be Than my cold heart's tepidity-- Chilled, wind-tossed, as the winter sea?
Dear Lord, I shrink from Thy pure eye, No home to offer Thee have I; Yet in Thy mercy pa.s.s not by.
_Agnes Repplier._
ON CHRISTMAS DAY.
a.s.sist me, Muse divine! to Sing the Morn On which the Saviour of Mankind was born; But oh! what Numbers to the Theme can rise?
Unless kind Angels aid me from the Skies!
Methinks I see the tunefull Host descend, And with officious Joy the Scene attend!
Hark, by their Hymns directed on the Road, The Gladsome Shepherds find the nascent G.o.d!
And view the Infant conscious of his Birth, Smiling bespeak Salvation to the Earth!
For when th' important aera first drew near In which the great Messiah should appear; And to accomplish his redeeming Love; Beneath our Form should every Woe sustain, And by triumphant Suffering fix his Reign, Should for lost Man in Tortures yield his Breath Dying to save us from eternal Death!
Oh mystick union!--salutary Grace!
Incarnate G.o.d our Nature should embrace!
That Deity should stoop to our Disguise!
That man recover'd should regain the Skies!
Dejected Adam! from thy grave ascend, And view the Serpent's Deadly Malice end, Adorning bless th' Almighty's boundless Grace That gave his son a Ransome for thy Race!
Oh never let my Soul this Day forget, But pay in gratefull praise the annual Debt.
_From a ma.n.u.script volume, written by George Washington._
THE HEAVENLY CHOIR.
