A CHRISTMAS CARMEN.
I.
Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands; Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn, Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born!
With glad jubilations Bring hope to the nations The dark night is ending and dawn has begun Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!
II.
Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove, Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord, And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord!
Clasp hands of the nations In strong gratulations: The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!
III.
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man!
Hark! joining in chorus The heavens bend o'er us'
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!
1873.
VESTA.
O Christ of God! whose life and death Our own have reconciled, Most quietly, most tenderly Take home Thy star-named child!
Thy grace is in her patient eyes, Thy words are on her tongue; The very silence round her seems As if the angels sung.
Her smile is as a listening child's Who hears its mother call; The lilies of Thy perfect peace About her pillow fall.
She leans from out our clinging arms To rest herself in Thine; Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we Our well-beloved resign!
Oh, less for her than for ourselves We bow our heads and pray; Her setting star, like Bethlehem's, To Thee shall point the way!
1874.
CHILD-SONGS.
Still linger in our noon of time And on our Saxon tongue The echoes of the home-born hymns The Aryan mothers sung.
And childhood had its litanies In every age and clime; The earliest cradles of the race Were rocked to poet's rhyme.
Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, Nor green earth's virgin sod, So moved the singer's heart of old As these small ones of God.
The mystery of unfolding life Was more than dawning morn, Than opening flower or crescent moon The human soul new-born.
And still to childhood's sweet appeal The heart of genius turns, And more than all the sages teach From lisping voices learns,--
The voices loved of him who sang, Where Tweed and Teviot glide, That sound to-day on all the winds That blow from Rydal-side,--
Heard in the Teuton's household songs, And folk-lore of the Finn, Where'er to holy Christmas hearths The Christ-child enters in!
Before life's sweetest mystery still The heart in reverence kneels; The wonder of the primal birth The latest mother feels.
We need love's tender lessons taught As only weakness can; God hath His small interpreters; The child must teach the man.
We wander wide through evil years, Our eyes of faith grow dim; But he is freshest from His hands And nearest unto Him!
And haply, pleading long with Him For sin-sick hearts and cold, The angels of our childhood still The Father's face behold.
Of such the kingdom!--Teach Thou us, O-Master most divine, To feel the deep significance Of these wise words of Thine!
The haughty eye shall seek in vain What innocence beholds; No cunning finds the key of heaven, No strength its gate unfolds.
Alone to guilelessness and love That gate shall open fall; The mind of pride is nothingness, The childlike heart is all!
1875.
THE HEALER.
TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN, WITH DORE'S PICTURE OF CHRIST HEALING THE SICK.
So stood of old the holy Christ Amidst the suffering throng; With whom His lightest touch sufficed To make the weakest strong.
That healing gift He lends to them Who use it in His name; The power that filled His garment's hem Is evermore the same.
For lo! in human hearts unseen The Healer dwelleth still, And they who make His temples clean The best subserve His will.
The holiest task by Heaven decreed, An errand all divine, The burden of our common need To render less is thine.
The paths of pain are thine. Go forth With patience, trust, and hope; The sufferings of a sin-sick earth Shall give thee ample scope.
Beside the unveiled mysteries Of life and death go stand, With guarded lips and reverent eyes And pure of heart and hand.
So shalt thou be with power endued From Him who went about The Syrian hillsides doing good, And casting demons out.
That Good Physician liveth yet Thy friend and guide to be; The Healer by Gennesaret Shall walk the rounds with thee.
THE TWO ANGELS.
God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love.
"Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within.
"My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels.