To high and low glad tidings tell, How God the Father loved us well, How God the Eternal Son Came to undo what we had done, How God the Paraclete, Who in the chafte womb framed 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; 5 That treasured joys of Christmas tide Deep in my heart, when I would fing; Its earnest yield of duteous love and praise, ways. "Wake me again, my mother dear, The peal of the departing year. Should move to that familiar chime: The Old Year in the dews of fleep, The New guide softly in With hopes to sweet sad memories akin! Long may that soothing cadence ear, heart, conscience win." In the dark winter, ere the snow Had loft its glow, 48 This melody we learned; and lo! That ftirs on high the summer trees. We pause and look around Where may the lone church-tower be found, The dim peal in the torrent seems to dwell, It greets us from afar in Ocean's measured swell. Perhaps we fit at home, and dream. And forms, that in low embers gleam, Then, wavering as that light and shade, And up and down its plaintive scale Range fitfully, and bear Meet burden to the lowly whispered air, And ever the sweet bells, that charmed Life's morn, are there. The pine-logs on the hearth sometimes Mimic the chimes, |