And thus the Poet whom I quoted above goes on to thought of that Spring from the contemplation of the rending winds and stripping Winter here:
“Safe home, safe home in port!—
Rent cordage, shattered deck,
Torn sails, provisions short,
And only not a wreck.
But, oh, the joy upon the shore,
To tell our voyage perils o’er!
“The prize, the prize secure!
The athlete nearly fell,
Bare all he could endure,
And bare not always well;
But he may smile at troubles gone,
Who sets the victor garland on.”
Well, I must muse no longer, I see, but give up myself to the will of the children. Come along, then, and let us make all bright and cheery at this joyous season. Tall sprays of thick-berried holly; golden winter cherries, laurel, and yew, and box; ay, and if you will, Cyril shall climb the old mossy gnarled apple-tree, and bring down a branching bunch of that pale-green, Druid-loved parasite, with its berries like opal beads. In this happy time the children may well claim to have their “time to laugh,” and to rejoice; and the elders may look on or join with kindly geniality. Yea, we may say, “It is meet that we should make merry and be glad;—for this our earth was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.”
Laugh and be happy, therefore, at the Christmas time. Only in enjoying the holiday, let not its etymology and true meaning be altogether lost sight of. And remember that it is only the thought of the Spring of Eternity that can take away the sadness from the contemplation of Time’s bare boughs.
LONDON:
ROBERT K. BURT, PRINTER,
WINE OFFICE COURT, FLEET STREET.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.