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heart, for a strange, subtle force, a spirit of genial good-will, a new-born kindness, seem to animate child and man alike when the world pays its tribute to the "heaven-sent youngling," as the poet Drummond calls the infant Christ.

      When the Three Wise Men rode from the East into the West on that "first, best Christmas night," they bore on their saddle-bows three caskets filled with gold and frankincense and myrrh, to be laid at the feet of the manger-cradled babe of Bethlehem. Beginning with this old, old journey, the spirit of giving crept into the world's heart. As the Magi came bearing gifts, so do we also; gifts that relieve want, gifts that are sweet and fragrant with friendship, gifts that breathe love, gifts that mean service, gifts inspired still by the star that shone over the City of David nearly two thousand years ago.

      Then hang the green coronet of the Christmas-tree with glittering baubles and jewels of flame; heap offerings on its emerald branches; bring the Yule log to the firing; deck the house with holly and mistletoe,

      "And all the bells on earth shall ring

       On Christmas day in the morning."

      THE SHEPHERDS

      WILLIAM DRUMMOND, OF HAWTHORNDEN

      O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!

       Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise

       Of which that golden eye which clears the skies

       Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!

       And blessed ye, in silly pastor's sight,

       Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies

       That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,

       Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!

       Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,

       Though withered—blessed grass that hath the grace

       To deck and be a carpet to that place!

       Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,

       Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees;

       And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.

       A CHRISTMAS CAROL

      JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

      "What means this glory round our feet,"

       The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?"

       And voices chanted clear and sweet,

       "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

       "What means that star," the Shepherds said,

       "That brightens through the rocky glen?"

       And angels, answering overhead,

       Sang, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

       'Tis eighteen hundred years and more

       Since those sweet oracles were dumb;

       We wait for Him, like them of yore;

       Alas, He seems so slow to come!

       But it was said, in words of gold,

       No time or sorrow e'er shall dim,

       That little children might be bold

       In perfect trust to come to Him.

       All round about our feet shall shine

       A light like that the wise men saw,

       If we our loving wills incline

       To that sweet Life which is the Law.

       So shall we learn to understand

       The simple faith of shepherds then,

       And, clasping kindly hand in hand,

       Sing, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

       But they who do their souls no wrong,

       But keep at eve the faith of morn,

       Shall daily hear the angel-song,

       "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

      A CHRISTMAS HYMN

      ALFRED DOMETT

      It was the calm and silent night!

       Seven hundred years and fifty-three

       Had Rome been growing up to might,

       And now was Queen of land and sea.

       No sound was heard of clashing wars;

       Peace brooded o'er the hush'd domain;

       Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,

       Held undisturb'd their ancient reign,

       In the solemn midnight

       Centuries ago.

       'T was in the calm and silent night!

       The senator of haughty Rome

       Impatient urged his chariot's flight,

       From lordly revel rolling home.

       Triumphal arches gleaming swell

       His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;

       What reck'd the Roman what befell

       A paltry province far away,

       In the solemn midnight

       Centuries ago!

       Within that province far away

       Went plodding home a weary boor:

       A streak of light before him lay,

       Fall'n through a half-shut stable door

       Across his path. He pass'd—for nought

       Told what was going on within;

       How keen the stars! his only thought;

       The air how calm and cold and thin,

       In the solemn midnight

       Centuries ago!

       O strange indifference!—low and high

       Drows'd over common joys and cares:

       The earth was still—but knew not why;

       The world was listening—unawares.

       How calm a moment may precede

       One that shall thrill the world for ever!

       To that still moment none would heed,

       Man's doom was link'd, no more to sever,

       In the solemn midnight

       Centuries ago.

       It is the calm and solemn night A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness, charm'd and holy now. The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given; For in that stable lay new-born The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.

      BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING

      REGINALD HEBER

      Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!

       Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!

       Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

       Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!

       Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining,

       Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;

       Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,

       Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all!

       Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,

       Odors of Edom and offerings divine?

       Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,

       Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?

      

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