UNDER THE HOLLY BOUGH. Ye who have scorned each other Or wronged a friend or brother, Ye who have loved each other Come gather happy here: Ye who have nourished sadness Estranged from joy and gladness, Under the Holly Bough. No more let useless sorrow 197 Charles Mackay. 17* THE DAWN OF CHRISTMAS. Acold it is and middle night: The moon looks down the snow, As if an angel, clad in white, Carried her lanthorn so That, going forth the streets of light, She made an earthward glow. A drift enfolds the chapel eaves And, garnered into whited sheaves, The sexton mounts the outer stair And over barn, and buried stack, And where the owl sits plump and black The Dawn of Christmas. The branches echo back the bells, For blast of wind and creak of bough And winter's inner voice-avow The holy hour is crossed, And far, mysterious music sounds, Sweet like a harping host. 199 H. S. M. BALLADE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS. Between the moonlight and the fire, What ghosts I raised at your desire, To make your leaping blood run slow! How old, how grave, how wise we grow! What Christmas ghost can make us chill— Save these that troop in mournful row, The ghosts we all can raise at will? The beasts can talk in barn and byre We men fall silent then, I trow— Oh, children of the village choir, Your carols on the midnight throw! Oh, bright across the mist and mire, Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas glow! Beat back the shades, beat down the woe, Renew the strength of mortal will; |