CHRISTMAS MORN.

Up, Christian! hark, the crowing cock
Proclaims the break of day!
Up! light the lamp, undo the lock,
And take the well-known way—
Already through the painted glass

Streams forth the light of early mass.

Our Altar! oh, how fair it shows,
Unto the night-dimm’d eyes—
Oh, surely yonder wreath that glows
Was plucked in paradise!

Without—it snows, the wind is loud,
Earth sleeps wrapped in her yearly shroud.

Within—the organ’s soaring peal,
The choir’s sweet chant, the bells,
The surging crowd who stand or kneel,

The glorious errand tells;
Rejoice! rejoice! ye sons of men, [Page 84]

’Tis but a step, a threshold cros’d,
Yet such the change we find—
Without the wandering worldling tost

By every gust of wind—
Within there reigns a holy calm,
For here abides the dread I AM. [Page 85]