At Dame Noël’s.
AN OLD-WORLD TRADITION.
The clock strikes Twelve! ’Tis Christmas Eve
At old Dame Noël’s farm;
Beyond the house, with holly wreathed,
The barn in mistletoe is sheathed.
(God save us from all harm!)
The red cock to the manger springs,
And shrills its Christmas prayer;
Three times, it flaps its shining wings,
Then, “Christus—natus—est!”—it sings.
—The ox roars “Ubi?—Where?”
But, soft thro’ swaths of sun-dried grass,
It hears the lamb below,
From out the shimmering, scented mass,
Bleat: “Beth’lem! Beth’lem!”—Brays the ass:
“Eamus!—Let us go!”
And ’round about the hive (whose zone
Shall summer sweets embalm),
The bees go floating as they drone,
Go floating, as they thus intone
Their honeyed, midnight psalm:
“Let all Creation praise the Lord,
Who comes to men this Christmas morn:
The Son of God, th’ Incarnate Word,
In Bethlehem of Mary born!
“Good ox, good ass, your brothers wait
This hour beside His Crib—A sign
There, too, is thine, meek lamb; thy Mate
Is Blessed Mary’s Lamb divine!
“And, from thy seed, bold Chanticleer!
Shall spring that bird of Passiontide,
Whose voice shall thrice to Peter’s ear
Proclaim: ‘Thou hast thy Lord denied!’
“Ah! tho’ we little bees may ne’er
Find in the Holy Babe, our part;
Nor, with our sweetest honey, dare
To heal His tender, bleeding heart;
“Tho’ none of us may share Man’s grace,
Nor claim his Saviour newly-born,
Yet do we still His mercies praise,
And bless His birth, this Christmas morn!”
Thus do the bonny creatures strive
To hail Love’s mystery;
In comely shapes, alert, alive,
Thus do they greet, in stall and hive,
Our Lord’s Nativity!
Thus, do the Soulless keep the feast
At old Dame Noël’s farm;
The Christmas star shines in the east,
Soft chimes the bell—swift glides the priest—
God save us from all harm!
