CHRISTMAS CHIMES.
The clear starlight, of a southern night,
Shone in Judæa’s sky,
The angels sang, and their harp-strings rang
With “Glory to God on high.”
Through the pearl gates streamed, ere the morning beamed,
The radiance of Heaven’s day;
And the shepherds led to the lonely bed
Where the holy Child-God lay.
The Yule-log’s light gleams warm to-night
In many an English home,
And no spirits dare—so the wise declare—
In the light of its beams to come;
The weird mistletoe and the holly glow
On castle and cottage wall;
While the jest and song ring all night long,
Through the merry banquet-hall.
And in other climes at the ringing chimes
There are scenes of joy and mirth:
E’en round the dead is its beauty shed
Who at Christmas pass from earth.
On this holy day, so the old tomes say,
Heaven’s portals open wide,
And the soul glides in, freed from all its sin
By the birth of the Crucified.
In our own fair land there is many a band
Whose home is filled with glee,
Whose hearts beat high, as the fleet hours fly,
With thoughts of the Christmas-tree.
May the Christ-Child weave, on this Christmas eve,
New hopes as the years go by,
And around His throne may at last each one
Sing “Glory to God on high.”