The stars have gone, the sun is up,
Soon must we hide from mortal view.
But ere we say good-bye, we bid
Ye upward, ever upward go;
Look to the Star that shines above,
Though oft you cull the flowers below.
’Tis Christmas morn, the Bell-bird’s chimes
Rise from the distant woods; o’er hills
Where rabbits skip, there softly rings
The music of a thousand rills.