In The Yule-Log Glow Volume Iii Part 21

It is enough to bear This image still and fair-- This holier in sleep, Than a saint at prayer: This aspect of a child Who never sinned or smiled-- This presence in an infant's face: This sadness most like love, This love than love more deep, This weakness like omnipotence, It is so strong to move!

Awful is this watching place, Awful what I see from hence-- A king, without regalia, A G.o.d, without the thunder, A child, without the heart for play; Ay, a Creator rent asunder From His first glory and cast away On His own world, for me alone To hold in hands created, crying--Son!

XIII.

That tear fell not on Thee Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in Thy slumber!

Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number Which through the vibratory palm-trees run From summer wind and bird, So quickly hast Thou heard A tear fall silently?-- Wak'st Thou, O loving One?

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

FOOTNOTE:

[M] It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of G.o.d's lips.

A BEDSIDE DITTY.

Baby, baby dear, Earth and heaven are near Now, for heaven is here.

Heaven is every place Where your flower-sweet face Fills our eyes with grace.

Till your own eyes deign Earth a glance again, Earth and heaven are twain.

Now your sleep is done, s.h.i.+ne, and show the sun Earth and heaven are one.

_Algernon Charles Swinburne._

GIVEN BACK ON CHRISTMAS MORN.

(A MOTHER WATCHES BY HER SICK BABE.)

Round about the cas.e.m.e.nt Wail the winds of winter; Shaken from the frozen eaves Many an icy splinter.

On the hillside, in the hollow, Weaving wreaths of snow: Now in gusts of solemn music Lost in murmurs low; Howling now across the wold In its shroudlike vastness, Like the wolves about a fold In some Alpine fastness, Hungered by the cold.

(THE MOTHER SINGS.)

Babe of mine--babe of mine, Must I lose you?

Dare I weep if the Divine Will should choose you?-- Ah, to mourn, as I have smiled, At the thought of you, my child!

Ah, my child--my child!

Babe of mine--you entwine With existence!

If one strips the clinging vine There's resistance-- Shall not I then----? I talk wild, Seeing Death so near my child:-- Ah, my child--my child!

Babe of mine--heart's best wine-- Life's pure essence!

Gloomy shadows, that define Death's near presence.

Dim those dear eyes, undefiled As G.o.d's violets--ah, my child: Ah, my child--my child!

The imperial purple of the night Is spread, wine-dark, above, But glistens with no gems of light, To hint of Heaven's love.

A sombre pall hangs overhead, Fringed with lurid clouds of lead,-- O'er the sleeping earth below One long, wide waste of silent snow, And the wind moans drearily As it wanders by, And the night wanes wearily In the starlight sky.

(THE MOTHER SINGS.)

Must the dear eyes close?

Must the lips be still?-- How I love their speech that flows Like a wanton rill!

Must those cheeks, soft-tinged with rose, Pallid grow and chill?

Give her back to me, angel in disguise!

So your mystery I shall learn--yet with tearless eyes.

By the pangs, the prayers, By the mother's glee, By her hopes, her fears, her cares, Give my child to me-- Give it back to me!

Quenched the eye's soft light, Hushed the cowslip breath!

Going, darling, in the night?

Spare--oh, spare her, Death!

Dying--is it so?

Oh, it must not be!

Can my one poor treasure go?

Give her back to me, Give her back to me: Or take me too,--left alone, Now my little one is gone; Ah, my child, my child!

Among the clouds that sail o'erhead A yellow radiance is shed; And o'er the hill-tops wrapt in snow, Is born a tinge of rosy glow.

Within the air a stir--like wings Of angels in their minist'rings; A tremulous motion, and a thrill, As with faint light the heavens fill.

Night's sombre clouds are slow withdrawn, And nature cries, Awake, 'tis dawn.

About the lonely cas.e.m.e.nt Blows fresh the breath of day;-- The mother, in amazement, Sees death-glooms fade away!

The blue eyes open once again, Once more the lips have smiled-- Her tears fell like the spring-time rain: G.o.d gives her back her child!

Hush, there are footsteps on the snow, That pause the lattice-pane below; While voices chant the carol-rhymes, The Christmas song of olden times:

Awake, good Christians! Long ago The shepherds waked at night, And saw the heavens with glory glow, And angels in the light.

Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height!

New life they told to all on earth, New life and blessing bright, Forewarning of the Saviour's birth, In Bethlehem this night.

Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height!

New life to all,--new life to all,-- The tidings good recite!

New life to all, which did befall At Bethlehem this night.

Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height!

The voices hushed--the footsteps died In distance far aloof, It seemed a blessing did abide Upon that silent roof, As far away their cheery singing Upon the frosty air came ringing.

Among the clouds that sail o'erhead A yellow glory is outspread; And on the hill-tops crowned with snows, A rosy blus.h.i.+ng radiance grows, As wider still the warm light glows: And flooding daylight falls again From cloud to hill--from hill to plain.