Piercing the mists of time, we gaze
Adown the future’s opening ways,
And hear the swelling prayer and praise.
Piercing the mists of time, we hail
The day when woe and sin shall fail,
And over all His love prevail.
A Song for Christmas Morning
O wear for garment mirth
Upon the soul,
As all the fields of earth
Wear one white stole!
A dream of things long gone
Let sorrow be:
Turn thou thine eyes on dawn,
Thy heart on glee!
What wonder everywhere
Above, abroad!
The amplitudes of air
Abrim with God.
His presence shining through
The risen sun,
And in the bending blue
His benison.
Into the gulfs of gloom
Go death and night;
Behold around thee bloom
Glad life and light!
The veil of darkness drawn,
Thy vision free,
Turn thou thy soul on dawn,
Exultingly!
The Christmas Minstrels
Now that the joy-day of the year is nearing,
In that fair sun-land set ’twixt sea and sea,
From hill and mountain dale behold appearing
With jocund strains a minstrel company.
The reeds that shepherds played in eras olden,
These are the tuneful pipes whereon they blow;
The sky that over-arches is the golden,
The bright Calabrian sky of long ago.
And since the decades of the saints and sages,
When here to Christ was first raised prayerful praise,
These minstrel men through all the echoing ages
Have heralded the hallowed Christmas days.