The Three Masses on Christmas Day.
I.
“The Lord hath said to me: Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee.”—Ps. ii, 7.
Deep in the bosom of the Father lies
His co-eternal Word—the Infinite,
Whose generation’s everlasting light
Illumes the unborn ages.... Lift your eyes,
And contemplate that Home in Paradise,
That first eternal Dwelling of the Word!—
Before the angels were,—before the skies
Blush’d over Eden, or the waters stirred
Under the Spirit’s strong, creative breath,—
Uttered the Father in His bosom blest
This glorious Word.... What matter change or death?
Amid the Godhead’s central fires expressed,
Life lives in Love.—O men of vision dim,
Here, at His altars, kneel, and worship Him!
II.
“And they came with haste, and they found Mary and Joseph, and the Infant lying in a manger.”—Luke ii, 16.
Tho’ midnight shadows wrap Him in their pall,
The stars upon His rosy sweetness shine;
From Mary’s bosom to the cattle-stall,
He passes in His baby grace divine!
Venite adoremus. In this shrine,
Our God appears, our Saviour, and our All!
Before the Word made Flesh, adoring, fall,
And praise the Everlasting’s blest design.
Far, o’er the hills, the angel-chorus rings;
The Shepherds, thro’ the dusk, are drawing nigh;
St. Joseph’s lantern glows.... The Eastern Kings
Stand out, like giants, ’gainst the bright’ning sky.
“Glory to God!”—(the swelling strains increase)
“And, on the earth, to men of good-will—peace!”
III.
“A child is born to us, and a Son is given to us, and the government is upon his shoulders; and his name shall be called the Angel of great Council.”—Isaias ix.
Within the Bethlehem of these poor hearts,
The manger of our souls, O Prince of men!
Come, in Thy pity, and be born again!—
Ere yet the golden Christmas-tide departs,
Love, with its thousand sweet and tender arts,
Shall emulate the Shepherds’ glowing zeal,
Or, like the Magi from the Orient marts,
Shall gold, and myrrh, and frankincense reveal.
O Babe, so rich in Thy great poverty,
Give us Detachment’s grand, divorcing grace!
O Babe, sublime in Thy humility,
Grant us, in Thee, all pride to self-abase!
O suff’ring Babe, so blissful in Thy woe,
A self-denying joy, on us, bestow!