XLII.

I HEAR along our street

Pass the minstrel throngs:

Hark! they play so sweet,

On their hautboys, Christmas songs!

Let us by the fire

Ever higher

Sing them till the night expire!

In December ring,

Every day the chimes;

Loud the gleemen sing,

In the streets, their merry rhymes.

Let us, &c.

Shepherds at the grange,

Where the Babe was born,

Sang with many a change,

Christmas carols until morn.

Let us, &c.

These good people sang,

Songs devout and sweet,

While the rafters rang,

There they stood with freezing feet.

Let us, &c.

Nuns in frigid cells,

At this holy tide,

For want of something else,

Christmas songs at times have tried.

Let us, &c.

Washerwomen old,

To the sound they beat,

Sing by rivers cold,

With uncovered heads and feet.

Let us, &c.

Who by the fireside stands,

Stamps his feet and sings;

But he who blows his hands,

Not so gay a carol brings.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher

Sing them till the night expire.