So frequently to vanquish all
The friends of Satan quite."
O tidings-

The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding

In tempest, storm, and wind,
And went to Bethlehem straightway,
This blessed babe to find.

O tidings—

But when to Bethlehem they came,
Whereat this infant lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay,

His mother Mary kneeling,
Unto the Lord did pray,
O tidings-

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;

This holy tide of Christmas

All others doth deface.

O tidings of comfort and joy!
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,
Was born on Christmas Day.

Old Carol.

A Song of Saint Francis

HERE was a Knight of Bethlehem,

THER

Whose wealth was tears and sorrows;

His men-at-arms were little lambs,

His trumpeters were sparrows.

His castle was a wooden cross,

On which He hung so high;

His helmet was a crown of thorns,
Whose crest did touch the sky.

Henry Neville Maugham.

Santa Claus

HE comes in the night! He comes in the night!

He softly, silently comes;

While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.

He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl;

Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.

His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;

It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,

With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,

As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,

And drops to the hearth like a stone.

t

The little red stockings he silently fills,

Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.

Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;

Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
Of his goodies he touches not one;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folks are done.

Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;

This beautiful mission is his;

Then, children, be good to the little old man,

When you find who the little man is.

Anon.