| O little town of Bethlehem, |
| How still we see thee lie! |
| Above thy deep and dreamless sleep |
| The silent stars go by; |
| Yet in thy dark streets shineth |
| The everlasting Light; |
| The hopes and fears of all the years |
| Are met in thee to-night. |
| |
| For Christ is born of Mary, |
| And, gathered all above, |
| While mortals sleep, the angels keep |
| Their watch of wondering love. |
| O morning stars, together |
| Proclaim the holy birth! |
| And praises sing to God the King, |
| And peace to men on earth. |
| |
| How silently, how silently, |
| The wondrous gift is given! |
| So God imparts to human hearts |
| The blessings of His heaven. |
| No ear may hear His coming, |
| But in this world of sin, |
| Where meek souls will receive Him still, |
| The dear Christ enters in. |
| |
| O holy Child of Bethlehem! |
| Descend to us, we pray; |
| Cast out our sin, and enter in, |
| Be born in us to-day. |
| We hear the Christmas angels |
| The great glad tidings tell; |
| Oh, come to us, abide with us, |
| Our Lord Emmanuel! |
| |
| Phillips Brooks. |
| This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, |
| Sails the unshadowed main,— |
| The venturous bark that flings |
| On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings |
| In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, |
| And coral reefs lie bare, |
| Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. |
| |
| Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; |
| Wrecked is the ship of pearl! |
| And every chambered cell, |
| Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, |
| As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, |
| Before thee lies revealed,— |
| Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! |
| |
| Year after year beheld the silent toil |
| That spread his lustrous coil; |
| Still, as the spiral grew, |
| He left the past year's dwelling for the new, |
| Stole with soft step its shining archway through, |
| Built up its idle door, |
| Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. |
| |
| Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, |
| Child of the wandering sea, |
| Cast from her lap, forlorn! |
| From thy dead lips a clearer note is born |
| Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! |
| While on mine ear it rings, |
| Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:— |
| |
| Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, |
| As the swift seasons roll! |
| Leave thy low-vaulted past! |
| Let each new temple, nobler than the last, |
| Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, |
| Till thou at length art free, |
| Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! |
| |
| Oliver Wendell Holmes. |
| True worth is in being, not seeming,— |
| In doing, each day that goes by, |
| Some little good—not in dreaming |
| Of great things to do by and by. |
| For whatever men say in their blindness, |
| And spite of the fancies of youth, |
| There's nothing so kingly as kindness, |
| And nothing so royal as truth. |
| |
| We get back our mete as we measure— |
| We cannot do wrong and feel right, |
| Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure, |
| For justice avenges each slight. |
| The air for the wing of the sparrow, |
| The bush for the robin and wren, |
| But alway the path that is narrow |
| And straight, for the children of men. |
| |
| 'Tis not in the pages of story |
| The heart of its ills to beguile, |
| Though he who makes courtship to glory |
| Gives all that he hath for her smile. |
| For when from her heights he has won her, |
| Alas! it is only to prove |
| That nothing's so sacred as honor, |
| And nothing so loyal as love! |
| |
| We cannot make bargains for blisses, |
| Nor catch them like fishes in nets; |
| And sometimes the thing our life misses |
| Helps more than the thing which it gets. |
| For good lieth not in pursuing, |
| Nor gaining of great nor of small, |
| But just in the doing, and doing |
| As we would be done by, is all. |
| |
| Through envy, through malice, through hating, |
| Against the world, early and late, |
| No jot of our courage abating— |
| Our part is to work and to wait. |
| And slight is the sting of his trouble |
| Whose winnings are less than his worth; |
| For he who is honest is noble, |
| Whatever his fortunes or birth. |
| |
| Alice Cary. |