The Christmas Tree. Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows. They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth, Or circled by them, as thy lips declare Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, Pausing at times to rouse the mouldering fire, Or taste the old October brown and bright. ROBERT SOUTHEY. The Christmas Tree. A MERRY, merry Christmas! What though the dreary landscape If on the social hearthstone The Christmas fire may glow? What though the wind at evening If eager hands and joyful Light up the Christmas Tree? Soft falls its pleasing lustre Upon the group around,— 119 In December ring Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Shepherds at the grange, These good people sang While the rafters rang, Nuns in frigid cells At this holy tide, For want of something else, Christmas songs at times have tried. Let us by the fire, etc. Washer-women old To the sound they beat, With uncovered heads and feet. Let us by the fire, etc, Who by the fireside stands Who in the chaste womb formed the Babe so sweet, In power and glory came, the birth to aid and greet. Wake me, that I the twelvemonth long May bear the song About with me in the world's throng; That treasured joys of Christmas tide May with mine hour of gloom abide; Deep in my heart, when I would sing; Each of the twelve good days Its earnest yield of duteous love and praise, Ensuring happy months, and hallowing common ways. |