OUR SIR ROBIN.

WHE

WHEN icicles shine so bright,
Telling of cold weather,

Then we see Sir Robin bright,

Rich in scarlet feather.

Sharp brown eyes, and sober suit,
Robin's voice is ever mute

Pretty winter Robin!

When the rosebuds are in bloom,
Telling summer's near,

Then we hear the voice of Robin
Singing loud and clear.

Of all wildwood birds, the best,
Robin of the red, red breast
Pretty winter robin!

THE CHRISTMAS SILENCE.

USHED are the pigeons cooing low,

HUS

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 against 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!

- Margaret Deland.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

N of early morning,

In the hush of a burns through the gray,

And the wintry world lies waiting

For the glory of the day,

Then we hear a fitful rustling
Just without upon the stair,
See two small white phantoms coming,
Catch the gleam of sunny hair.

Are they Christmas fairies stealing
Rows of little socks to fill?

Are they angels floating hither

With their message of good-will?

What sweet spells are these elves weaving,
As like larks they chirp and sing?
Are these palms of peace from heaven
That these lovely spirits bring?

Rosy feet upon the threshold,
Eager faces peeping through,
With the first red ray of sunshine,
Chanting cherubs come in view;
Mistletoe and gleaming holly,
Symbols of a blessed day,
In their chubby hands they carry,
Streaming all along the way.

Well we know them, never weary
Of this innocent surprise;
Waiting, watching, listening always,
With full hearts and tender eyes,
While our little household angels,

White and golden in the sun,
Greet us with the sweet old welcome,
"Merry Christmas, every one!"

- Selected

NOT

HOLLY.

OT one pretty flower would stay,
When old Autumn nipped the grass;

For she had a cruel way,

Though as red-cheeked as a lass.

Winter had our Northland taken,

Her white flags by wind outshaken.

What then was there bright enough
For the merry Christmas Day?
"Good Dame Nature, be less rough,"
Said the folks, "leave storms, we pray;
Bring some posies and be cheery,
Lest she find the world too dreary."

"What are posies in the gleam

Of my beautiful white frost?"

Said the old dame from her dream.

66

'By the hedge all snow-embossed,

Bloom itself the glad day carries,"
And she held up holly berries.

How their scarlet brightness shone
In the morning's airy tracks!
Nature is a wise old crone;

She knows what a picture lacks.
Winter lost its melancholy;

Christmas laughed to see the holly.

Since that hour, now far away,
When Time's tired wing was light,
In the path of Christmas Day
Always shine the berries bright;
And 'mid all its tender folly,

Gleams the blush of Christmas holly.

SAID TULIP, "THAT IS SO."

ON

NE Christmas time some roots and bulbs,
That lived far under ground,

Began to talk so softly that

Above was heard no sound.
Said Hyacinth, "It seems a shame
That we should have no share
In all the fun that's going on;
It really is not fair.

We hear the merry, jingling bells,
As sleighs fly o'er the snow,
But cannot see a single thing."
Said Tulip, "That is so."

Said Crocus, "I would like my dress
Of shining gold to don."

Said Scilla, "O, I wish I could

My bright blue gown put on."

"And much I long to join the dance, For none can rival me

In grace, the wind has oft declared,"

Said fair Anemone.

"And would," Narcissus said, "I might

My silver trumpet blow;

'Twould glad, I'm sure, the Christmas green.”

Said Tulip, "That is so."

Then spoke the Snowdrop, "Cease to wish,

For wishes are in vain;

Here must we stay until we're called

Above the ground again.