HERBS OF GRACE.

"Far away in Sicily!"—

A home-come sailor sang this rhyme,

Deep in an ingle, mug on knee,

At Christmas time.

In Sicily, as I was told,

The children take them Pennyroyal,

The same as lurks on hill and wold

In Cotsall soil.

The Pennyroyal of grace divine

In little cradles they do weave—

Little cradles therewith they line

On Christmas Eve.

And there, as midnight bells awake

The Day of Birth, as they do tell,

All into bud the small plants break

With sweetest smell.

All into bud that very hour;

And pure and clean, as they do say,

The Pennyroyal's full in flower

On Christmas Day.

Far away in Sicily!—

Hark, the Christmas bells do chime!

So blossom love in thee and me

This Christmas time!

W.B.