Classic Poem

I.

O christ, again we celebrate thy birth.
Last night, a sound of sudden carol singing
Came floating in on many a chosen ear;
To-day, the tuneful heavens far and near
Are finely quivering to the distant ringing
Of sweetly chiming bells, or else the sphere
Is shivered by some clamorous crash more near.
In happy homes there is a sound of mirth;
The jolly god, to childish faith so dear,
Has made again his circuit of the earth.
Great country hearths their flames are upward flinging,
Diffusing wide a flickering, rosy glow
O'er waiting board and pendent mistletoe,
And many a scene where joy and plenty dwells;
And prancing steeds come bounding o'er the snow,
Shaking a rhythmic jangle from their bells.

II.

How meet it is that merry Christmas tide
Should come when Winter, merciless and drear,
Has laid his hand of ice to Nature's side,
And chilled awhile her kindly heart with fear.

The dusky grape, that erst in Autumn reigns,
Lurked pregnant, clustered deep in green-leaved vine,
Gleaned in all fields, with song and merry pains,
Fills vat and cask with rich and mellow wine.

The yellow corn, that caught the very tint
Of late Autumna's saddest parting smile,
Fills the bulged crib — no need for studied stint,
Though Winter howls in aimless rage the while.

Then lay the Yule log on its couch of fire;
Pile high the board with bounteous hand and free;
Fill the old hall; let gray-haired dame and sire
Mix their shrill merriment with childhood's glee.

III.

There is a scene of woe for every feast,
And none may laugh but what some other sighs;
Curses with every grateful prayer arise;
There is no birth but what some heart has ceased.

My ship, perchance, comes safely home to me —
Hope-laden; now she nears the quiet port.
Some other bark, of waves and winds the sport,
Sinks even now beneath a cruel sea.

Within the church, proud Beauty bows her head,
Or humbly kneels to God in worship meet.
Without, the shivering wretches on the street
Would gladly give their very souls for bread.

The gods are partial: they give wealth untold,
With palaces and garnered stores, to some;
But others are with silent misery dumb,
Or prate of vengeance, by despair made bold.

IV.

O Christ! Infinity of Tenderness,
Great Heart of Love itself! It matters not
Whether thou wert indeed a living truth,
God dwelling with us in our flesh and blood,
Or, as the doubters of this latter day,
Who cannot thrust their fingers in thy side,
Would have the world believe, but an ideal
Shaped by the better yearnings of our race.
Thou art all-worthy of all reverence.
Ah, wise were they who, following first thy star,
Came from far countries in the fabled East
To bow their gray heads to the Babe of Peace.
That star alone can light and warm the world.
And if, e'en while these Christmas bells are chiming,
Gaunt Misery stalks the city's crowded-lanes;
If Famine peers through many a rag-stopped pane
On scenes of squalor and disease within,
Or boldly enters side by side with Death,
It is because the loving Christ, who said,
" Sell that thou hast, and give unto the poor, "
Has in these Christmas feastings been forgot.