Aid our poor soul to sing
Above the tempest's glee;
Give us the eagle's fearless wing,
The dove's to soar to Thee!
All-merciful and good,
Hover the homeless heart!
Give us this day our daily food
In knowing what Thou art!
Swampscott, Mass., January 1, 1868.
CHRISTMAS MORN
Dear Christ, forever here and near,
No cradle song,
No natal hour and mother's tear,
To thee belong.
Thou God-idea, Life-encrowned,
The Bethlehem babe—
Beloved, replete, by flesh embound—
Was but thy shade!
Thou gentle beam of living Love,
And deathless Life!
Truth infinite,—so far above
All mortal strife,