Christmas in Legend and Story. Elva Sophronia Smith

go.

      And, though the shady gloom

       Had given day her room,

       The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

       And hid his head for shame,

       As his inferior flame

       The new-enlightened world no more should need:

       He saw a greater Sun appear

       Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

THE CHRISTMAS SILENCE

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      MARGARET DELAND

      Hushed are the pigeons cooing low

       On dusty rafters of the loft;

       And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,

       Sleep on the fragrant hay below.

      Dim shadows in the corner hide;

       The glimmering lantern's rays are shed

       Where one young lamb just lifts his head,

       Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.

      Strange silence tingles in the air;

       Through the half-open door a bar

       Of light from one low-hanging star

       Touches a baby's radiant hair.

      No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays

       Her cheek against the little face.

       Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!

       'Tis yet in silence that she prays!

      Ages of silence end to-night;

       Then to the long-expectant earth

       Glad angels come to greet His birth

       In burst of music, love, and light!

NEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST NIGHT

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      NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH

      Deep in the shelter of the cave,

       The ass with drooping head

       Stood weary in the shadow, where

       His master's hand had led.

       About the manger oxen lay,

       Bending a wide-eyed gaze

       Upon the little new-born Babe,

       Half worship, half amaze.

       High in the roof the doves were set,

       And cooed there, soft and mild,

       Yet not so sweet as, in the hay,

       The Mother to her Child.

       The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath

       To keep Babe Jesus warm,

       While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,

       The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!"

       Out in the fields, beneath the stars,

       The young lambs sleeping lay,

       And dreamed that in the manger slept

       Another, white as they.

      These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;

       To Thee their love was given,

       For in Thy baby face there shone

       The wonder-light of Heaven.

CHRISTMAS CAROL

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      FROM THE NEAPOLITAN

      When Christ was born in Bethlehem,

       'T was night, but seemed the noon of day;

       The stars, whose light

       Was pure and bright,

       Shone with unwavering ray;

       But one, one glorious star

       Guided the Eastern Magi from afar.

      Then peace was spread throughout the land;

       The lion fed beside the tender lamb;

       And with the kid,

       To pasture led,

       The spotted leopard fed;

       In peace, the calf and bear,

       The wolf and lamb reposed together there.

      As shepherds watched their flocks by night,

       An angel, brighter than the sun's own light,

       Appeared in air,

       And gently said,

       Fear not—be not afraid,

       For lo! beneath your eyes,

       Earth has become a smiling paradise.

A CHRISTMAS HYMN

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      RICHARD WATSON GILDER

      Tell me what is this innumerable throng

       Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song?

       These are they who come with swift and shining feet

       From round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet.

      Oh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky,

       As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly?

       The faithful shepherds these, who greatly were afeared

       When, as they watched their flocks by night, the heavenly host appeared.

      Who are these that follow across the hills of night

       A star that westward hurries along the fields of light?

      Three wise men from the east who myrrh and treasure bring

       To lay them at the feet of him their Lord and Christ and King.

      What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries?

       Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies.

       Oh, see the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings—

       This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of kings.

THE SONG OF A SHEPHERD—BOY AT BETHLEHEM

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      JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY

      Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary:

       Rest Thee now.

       Though these hands be rough from shearing

       And the plough,

      Yet they shall not ever fail Thee,

       When the waiting nations hail Thee,

       Bringing palms unto their King.

       Now—I sing.