Thou, O holly, with thy berries,
Gleaming redly bright,
Comest, like a pleasant friend,
When the dying year hath end,
Comest to the Christmas party, round the ruddy fire-light.
'Thou, O yew, with sombre branches,
And dark-veiled head--
Like a monk within the church-yard,
When the prayers are said,
Standing by the newly-buried
In the depth of thought--
Tellest, with a solemn grace,
Of the earthly dwelling-place,
Of the soul to live for ever--of the body come to nought,
'Thou, O cedar, storm-enduring,
Bent with years, and old,
Standest with thy broad-eaved branches,
Shadowing o'er the mould;
Shadowing o'er the tender saplings,
Like a patriarch mild,
When he lifts his hoary head,
And his hands a blessing shed,
On the little ones around him--on the children of his child.
'And the light, smooth-barked hazel,
And the dusky sloe,
Are the poor men of the forest--
Are the weak and low.
Yet unto the poor is given
Power the earth to bless;
And the sloe's small fruit of down,
And the hazel's clusters brown,
Are the tribute they can offer--are their mite of usefulness.
'When the awful words were spoken,
"It is finished!"--
When the all-loving heart was broken,
Bowed the patient head;
When the earth grew dark as midnight
In her solemn awe--
Then the forest-branches all
Bent, with reverential fall--
Bent, as bent the Jewish foreheads at the giving of the law.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87