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
May with mine hour of gloom abide;
The Christmas carol ring

Deep in my heart, when I would fing;
Each of the twelve good days

Its earnest yield of duteous love and praise,
Ensuring happy months, and hallowing common

ways.

"Wake me again, my mother dear,
That I may hear

The peal of the departing year.
O well I love, the ftep of Time

Should move to that familiar chime:
Fair fall the tones that steep

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,

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This melody we learned; and lo!
We hear it now in every breeze

That ftirs on high the summer trees.

We pause and look around

Where may the lone church-tower be found,
That speaks our tongue so well?

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.
On some high theme,

And forms, that in low embers gleam,
Come to our twilight Fancy's aid:

Then, wavering as that light and shade,
The breeze will figh and wail,

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,