W. J. BLEW. NIGHT is set in, the stars their lamps are raising; Each dewy flower hath closed its perfumed chalice; O'er the blue hills the city lights are blazing, And the gay cressets gleam in cot and palace. Down the green sheep-tracks rest the flocks enfolden, Round their still cotes the hinds their fires are waking, While in the homes of Bethlehem lie holden Eyes all unconscious of the mystery breaking. Oh, wonder of all wonders, The hinds their watch are keeping, A babe is in the manger Christ Jesus there is sleeping; The oxen round him lowing, The ass his forehead bowing, The maiden mother kneeling, While night is o'er them stealing. Soon shall a fire-flood kindle up the horizon, Paling the broad sun at his first uprising, Paling the bright moon at his red declining. Peace be on earth; Good will to loving mortals." Oh, wonder of all wonders, The hinds their watch are keeping, A babe is in the manger Christ Jesus there is sleeping; Where consecrated branches spread As when, with summer foliage crowned, To Him who lengthened has their day; Within yon deeply shaded pile Where meek Religion 's seen to smile, While decked with modest evergreen Her sanctuary may be seen; A token sure of heavenly grace, The Squire upon his bended knee, CHRISTMAS TIME. The best and holiest appear: And 'mid our deep affliction show The bliss unmerited below, Which Christ descended to bestow. CHRISTMAS TIME. JOHN CLARE. GLAD Christmas comes, and every hearth E'en want will dry its tears in mirth, And crown him with a holly bough; Though tramping 'neath a winter sky, O'er snowy paths and rimy stiles, The housewife sets her spinning by, To bid him welcome with her smiles. Each house is swept the day before, And windows stuck with evergreens, The snow is besomed from the door, And comfort crowns the cottage scenes. Gilt holly with its thorny pricks, And yew, and box, with berries small, These deck the unused candlesticks, And pictures hanging by the wall. Neighbours resume their annual cheer, Wishing, with smiles and spirits high, Glad Christmas and a happy year, To every morning passer-by; Milkmaids their Christmas journeys go, The shepherd now no more afraid, Since custom doth the chance bestow, Starts up to kiss the giggling maid, With pearl-like berries shining gay; The shadow still of what hath been, Which fashion yearly fades away, |