Through the merry banquet-hall.
And in other climes at the ringing chimes
There are scenes of joy and mirth:
E’en round the dead is its beauty shed
Who at Christmas pass from earth.
On this holy day, so the old tomes say,
Heaven’s portals open wide,
And the soul glides in, freed from all its sin
By the birth of the Crucified.
In our own fair land there is many a band