Chapter XVI: Part IV (4)

Think truly, and thy thoughts
Shall the world's famine feed;
Speak truly, and each word of thine
Shall be a fruitful seed;
Live truly, and thy life shall be
A great and noble creed.

HORATIO BONAR.

_The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation_

He that is down needs fear no fall,
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,
Little be it or much:
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
Because Thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is
That go on pilgrimage:
Here little, and hereafter bliss,
Is best from age to age.

JOHN BUNYAN.

_A Turkish Legend_

A certain pasha, dead five thousand years,
Once from his harem fled in sudden tears,

And had this sentence on the city's gate
Deeply engraven, "Only God is great."

So these four words above the city's noise
Hung like the accents of an angel's voice.

And evermore from the high barbican,
Saluted each returning caravan.

Lost is that city's glory. Every gust
Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown pasha's dust,

And all is ruin, save one wrinkled gate
Whereon is written, "Only God is great."

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

_Elegy written in a Country Churchyard_

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour--
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes--

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove:
Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

"The next, with dirges due in sad array,
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne.--
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH

_Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own._

_Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend._

_No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God._

THOMAS GRAY.

_Polonius to Laertes_

And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear't, that th' opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are of a most select and generous choice in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,--to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "Hamlet."_

_The Olive Tree_

Said an ancient hermit, bending
Half in prayer upon his knee,
"Oil I need for midnight watching,
I desire an olive tree."

Then he took a tender sapling,
Planted it before his cave,
Spread his trembling hands above it,
As his benison he gave.

But he thought, the rain it needeth,
That the root may drink and swell;
"God! I pray Thee send Thy showers!"
So a gentle shower fell.

"Lord, I ask for beams of summer,
Cherishing this little child."
Then the dripping clouds divided,
And the sun looked down and smiled.

"Send it frost to brace its tissues,
O my God!" the hermit cried.
Then the plant was bright and hoary,
But at evensong it died.

Went the hermit to a brother
Sitting in his rocky cell:
"Thou an olive tree possessest;
How is this, my brother, tell?

"I have planted one, and prayed,
Now for sunshine, now for rain;
God hath granted each petition,
Yet my olive tree hath slain!"

Said the other, "I entrusted
To its God my little tree;
He who made knew what it needed,
Better than a man like me.

"Laid I on him no condition,
Fixed no ways and means; so I
Wonder not my olive thriveth,
Whilst thy olive tree did die."

SABINE BARING-GOULD.

_Coronation_

At the king's gate the subtle noon
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell one by one.

Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,
A beggar went, and laughed, "This brings
Me chance, at last, to see if men
Fare better, being kings."

The king sat bowed beneath his crown,
Propping his face with listless hand;
Watching the hour-glass sifting down
Too slow its shining sand.

"Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?"
The beggar turned, and pitying,
Replied, like one in dream, "Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king."

Uprose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown, and threw it by.
"O man! thou must have known," he said,
"A greater king than I."

Through all the gates, unquestioned then,
Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, "Shall I know when
Before _his_ throne I stand?"

The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king's hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
"This is his presence now."

At the king's gate, the crafty noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked one by one.

"Ho there! Ho there! Has no man seen
The king?" The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.

On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.

H. H.

_December_

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them,
With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

Ah! would 'twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?
To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbed sense to steal it,
Was never said in rhyme.

JOHN KEATS.

_The End of the Play_

The play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter's bell:
A moment yet the actor stops,
And looks around, to say farewell.
It is an irksome word and task;
And, when he's laughed and said his say,
He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that's anything but gay.

One word, ere yet the evening ends,
Let's close it with a parting rhyme,
And pledge a hand to all young friends,
As fits the merry Christmas time.
On life's wide scenes you, too, have parts,
That Fate ere long shall bid you play;
Good-night! with honest gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway!

* * * *

Come wealth or want, come good or ill,
Let young and old accept their part,
And bow before the Awful Will,
And bear it with ah honest heart.
Who misses, or who wins the prize?
Go, lose or conquer as you can:
But if you fail, or if you rise,
Be each, pray God, a gentleman.

A gentleman, or old or young!
(Bear kindly with my humble lays;)
The sacred chorus first was sung
Upon the first of Christmas days:
The shepherds heard it overhead--
The joyful angels raised it then:
Glory to Heaven on high, it said,
And peace on earth to gentle men.

My song, save this, is little worth;
I lay the weary pen aside,
And wish you health, and love, and mirth,
As fits the solemn Christmas-tide.
As fits the holy Christmas birth,
Be this, good friends, our carol still--
Be peace on earth, be peace on earth,
To men of gentle will.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

_From "Dr. Birch and his Young Friends."_

_A Farewell_

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.

* * * *

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:
And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

_A Boy's Prayer_

God who created me
Nimble and light of limb,
In three elements free,
To run, to ride, to swim:
Not when the sense is dim,
But now from the heart of joy,
I would remember Him:
Take the thanks of a boy.

* * * *

HENRY CHARLES BEECHING.

_Chartless_

I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.

EMILY DICKINSON.

_Peace_

My soul, there is a country,
Afar beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry,
All skilful in the wars.
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O my soul, awake!)
Did in pure love descend,
To die here for thy sake.

If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But One who never changes,
Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

_Consider_

Consider
The lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief--
We are as they;
Like them we fade away,
As doth a leaf.

Consider
The sparrows of the air, of small account:
Our God doth view
Whether they fall or mount--
He guards us too.

Consider
The lilies, that do neither spin nor toil,
Yet are most fair--
What profits all this care,
And all this coil?

Consider
The birds, that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;
God gives them food--
Much more our Father seeks
To do us good.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

_The Elixir_

Teach me, my God and King,
In all things Thee to see,
And what I do in anything,
To do it as for Thee.

* * * *

All may of Thee partake:
Nothing can be so mean
Which with this tincture (for Thy sake)
Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause
Makes drudgery divine:
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,
Makes that and th' action fine.

This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold;
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.

GEORGE HERBERT.

_One by One_

One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee--
Let thy whole strength go to each,
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one (bright gifts from heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given--
Ready, too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee--
Shadows passing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow;
See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown, and holy,
When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token,
Reaching heaven; but, one by one,
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

_The Commonwealth of the Bees_

(Type of a Well-ordered State.)

For government, though high, and low, and lower,
Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,
Congreeing in a full and natural close,
Like music.
Therefore doth heaven divide
The state of man in divers functions,
Setting endeavor in continual motion;
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
Obedience; for so work the honey-bees,
Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach
The art of order to a peopled kingdom:
They have a king and officers of state,
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent-royal of their emperor;
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold,
The civil citizens kneading up the honey,
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
The sad-eyed Justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to executors pale
The lazy, yawning drone.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "King Henry V."_

_The Pilgrim_

Who would true valor see
Let him come hither!
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather:
There's no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first-avow'd intent
To be a Pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round
With dismal stories,
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright;
He'll with a giant fight;
But he will have a right
To be a Pilgrim.

Nor enemy, nor fiend,
Can daunt his spirit;
He knows he at the end
Shall Life inherit:--
Then, fancies, fly away;
He'll not fear what men say;
He'll labor, night and day,
To be a Pilgrim.

JOHN BUNYAN.

_Be Useful_

Be useful where thou livest, that they may
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still.
----Find out men's wants and will,
And meet them there. All worldly joys go less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.

GEORGE HERBERT.

INTERLEAVES

_The Glad Evangel_

When the Child of Nazareth was born, the sun, according to the Bosnian legend, "leaped in the heavens, and the stars around it danced. A peace came over mountain and forest. Even the rotten stump stood straight and healthy on the green hill-side. The grass was beflowered with open blossoms, incense sweet as myrrh pervaded upland and forest, birds sang on the mountain top, and all gave thanks to the great God."

It is naught but an old folk-tale, but it has truth hidden at its heart, for a strange, subtle force, a spirit of genial good-will, a new-born kindness, seem to animate child and man alike when the world pays its tribute to the "heaven-sent youngling," as the poet Drummond calls the infant Christ.

When the Three Wise Men rode from the East into the West on that "first, best Christmas night," they bore on their saddle-bows three caskets filled with gold and frankincense and myrrh, to be laid at the feet of the manger-cradled babe of Bethlehem. Beginning with this old, old journey, the spirit of giving crept into the world's heart. As the Magi came bearing gifts, so do we also; gifts that relieve want, gifts that are sweet and fragrant with friendship, gifts that breathe love, gifts that mean service, gifts inspired still by the star that shone over the City of David nearly two thousand years ago.

Then hang the green coronet of the Christmas-tree with glittering baubles and jewels of flame; heap offerings on its emerald branches; bring the Yule log to the firing; deck the house with holly and mistletoe,

_"And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas day in the morning."_

XVII

THE GLAD EVANGEL

_A Christmas Carol_[24]

There's a song in the air!
There's a star in the sky!
There's a mother's deep prayer
And a baby's low cry!
And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing,
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.

There's a tumult of joy
O'er the wonderful birth,
For the virgin's sweet boy
Is the Lord of the earth,
Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing,
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king!

In the light of that star
Lie the ages impearled;
And that song from afar
Has swept over the world.
Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing
In the homes of the nations that Jesus is king.

We rejoice in the light,
And we echo the song
That comes down through the night
From the heavenly throng.
Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,
And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King!

JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.

[Footnote 24: _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons._]

_The Angels_

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.
We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:
A Saviour there is born more old than years,
Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.
In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid,
A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;
There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,
To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.
This is that night--no, day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is:
In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!
Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,
And cope of stars re-echoed the same.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

"_While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night"_

Like small curled feathers, white and soft,
The little clouds went by,
Across the moon, and past the stars,
And down the western sky:
In upland pastures, where the grass
With frosted dew was white,
Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay,
That first, best Christmas night.

The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,
With twist of thin, blue smoke,
Only their fire's crackling flames
The tender silence broke--
Save when a young lamb raised his head,
Or, when the night wind blew,
A nesting bird would softly stir,
Where dusky olives grew--

With finger on her solemn lip,
Night hushed the shadowy earth,
And only stars and angels saw
The little Saviour's birth;
Then came such flash of silver light
Across the bending skies,
The wondering shepherds woke, and hid
Their frightened, dazzled eyes!

And all their gentle sleepy flock
Looked up, then slept again,
Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars
Brought endless Peace to men--
Nor even heard the gracious words
That down the ages ring--
"The Christ is born! the Lord has come,
Good-will on earth to bring!"

Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields,
Dumb with the world's great joy,
The shepherds sought the white-walled town,
Where lay the baby boy--
And oh, the gladness of the world,
The glory of the skies,
Because the longed-for Christ looked up
In Mary's happy eyes!

MARGARET DELAND.

_The Star Song_

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,
Where is the Babe but lately sprung?
Lies he the lily-banks among?

Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find him out?

_Star._--No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest,
A princely babe, in's mother's breast.

ROBERT HERRICK.

_Hymn for Christmas_

Oh! lovely voices of the sky
Which hymned the Saviour's birth,
Are ye not singing still on high,
Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?
To us yet speak the strains
Wherewith, in time gone by,
Ye blessed the Syrian swains,
Oh! voices of the sky!

Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams
That hour Heaven's glory shed,
Around the palms, and o'er the streams,
And on the shepherd's head.
Be near, through life and death,
As in that holiest night
Of hope, and joy, and faith--
Oh! clear and shining light!

* * * *

FELICIA HEMANS.

_New Prince, New Pomp_

Behold a simple, tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies;
Alas! a piteous sight.

The inns are full; no man will yield
This little Pilgrim bed;
But forced he is with silly beasts
In crib to shroud his head.

Despise him not for lying there;
First what he is inquire:
An Orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,
Nor beasts that by him feed;
Weigh not his mother's poor attire,
Nor Joseph's simple weed.
This stable is a Prince's court,
The crib his chair of state;
The beasts are parcel of his pomp,
The wooden dish his plate.

The persons in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear;
The Prince himself is come from heaven:
This pomp is praised there.

With joy approach, O Christian wight!
Do homage to thy King;
And highly praise this humble pomp,
Which he from heaven doth bring.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL.

_The Three Kings_

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere;
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at the wayside wells.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,
"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;
We know of no king but Herod the Great!"
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain
Like riders in haste who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away, and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn;
Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,
The Child that would be King one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King;
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;
The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

_The Three Kings_[25]

From out Cologne there came three kings
To worship Jesus Christ, their King;
To him they sought fine herbs they brought
And many a beauteous golden thing;
They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town
And in that manger set them down.

Then spake the first king, and he said:
"O Child most heavenly, bright and fair,
I bring this crown to Bethlehem town
For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;
So give a heavenly crown to me
When I shall come at last to Thee."

The second then: "I bring thee here
This royal robe, O Child!" he cried;
"Of silk 'tis spun and such an one
There is not in the world beside!
So in the day of doom requite
Me with a heavenly robe of white!"

The third king gave his gift, and quoth:
"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,
And with these twain would I most fain
Anoint the body of my King.
So may their incense some time rise
To plead for me in yonder skies."

Thus spake the three kings of Cologne
That gave their gifts and went their way;
And now kneel I in prayer hard-by
The cradle of the Child to-day;
Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring
As offering unto Christ my King.

Yet have I brought a gift the Child
May not despise, however small;
For here I lay my heart to-day,
And it is fun of love to all!
Take Thou the poor, but loyal thing,
My only tribute, Christ, my King.

EUGENE FIELD.

[Footnote 25: _From "With Trumpet and Drum" by Eugene Field Copyright, 1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons._]

_A Christmas Hymn_

It was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was queen of land and sea.
No sound was heard of clashing wars--
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago.

'Twas in the calm and silent night!
The senator of haughty Rome,
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,
From lordly revel rolling home;
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago?

Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor;
A streak of light before him lay,
Falling through a half-shut stable-door
Across his path. He passed--for naught
Told what was going on within;
How keen the stars, his only thought--
The air how calm, and cold, and thin,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!

Oh, strange indifference! low and high
Drowsed over common joys and cares;
The earth was still--but knew not why,
The world was listening, unawares.
How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world for ever!
To that still moment, none would heed,
Man's doom was linked no more to sever--
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!

It is the calm and solemn night!
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness--charmed and holy now!
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay, new-born,
The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!

ALFRED DOMMETT.

_O Little Town of Bethlehem_

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,
And, gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in,
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!

PHILLIPS BROOKS.

_While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night_

While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.

"Fear not," said he, for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind;
"Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind.

"To you, in David's town, this day
Is born, of David's line,
The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord,
And this shall be the sign:

"The heavenly babe you there shall find
To human view displayed,
All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands,
And in a manger laid."

Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith
Appeared a shining throng
Of angels, praising God, who thus
Addressed their joyful song:

"All glory be to God on high,
And to the earth be peace;
Good will henceforth from Heaven to men
Begin and never cease."

NAHUM TATE.

_Christmas Carol_

As Joseph was a-walking,
He heard an angel sing,
"This night shall be the birthnight
Of Christ our heavenly King.

"His birth-bed shall be neither
In housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of paradise,
But in the oxen's stall.

"He neither shall be rocked
In silver nor in gold,
But in the wooden manger
That lieth in the mould.

"He neither shall be washen
With white wine nor with red,
But with the fair spring water
That on you shall be shed.

"He neither shall be clothed
In purple nor in pall,
But in the fair, white linen
That usen babies all."

As Joseph was a-walking,
Thus did the angel sing,
And Mary's son at midnight
Was born to be our King.

Then be you glad, good people,
At this time of the year;
And light you up your candles,
For His star it shineth clear.

OLD ENGLISH.

_Old Christmas_

Now he who knows old Christmas,
He knows a carle of worth;
For he is as good a fellow
As any upon earth.

He comes warm cloaked and coated,
And buttoned up to the chin,
And soon as he comes a-nigh the door
We open and let him in.

We know that he will not fail us,
So we sweep the hearth up clean;
We set him in the old arm-chair,
And a cushion whereon to lean.

And with sprigs of holly and ivy
We make the house look gay,
Just out of an old regard to him,
For it was his ancient way.

* * * *

He must be a rich old fellow:
What money he gives away!
There is not a lord in England
Could equal him any day.

Good luck unto old Christmas,
And long life, let us sing,
For he doth more good unto the poor
Than many a crowned king!

MARY HOWITT.

_God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen_

God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,
When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.

God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,
For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;
Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,
When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.

God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed morn
The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:
Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

_Minstrels and Maids_

Outlanders, whence come ye last?
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
Through what green seas and great have ye past?
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

From far away, O masters mine,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
We come to bear you goodly wine,
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

From far away we come to you,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
To tell of great tidings strange and true,
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

News, news of the Trinity,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
And Mary and Joseph from over the sea!
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

For as we wandered far and wide,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
What hap do you deem there should us betide!
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

Under a bent when the night was deep,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
There lay three shepherds tending their sheep.
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"O ye shepherds, what have ye seen,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
To slay your sorrow, and heal your teen?"
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"In an ox-stall this night we saw,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
A babe and a maid without a flaw.
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"There was an old man there beside,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
His hair was white and his hood was wide.
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"And as we gazed this thing upon,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
Those twain knelt down to the Little One,
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"And a marvellous song we straight did hear,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
That slew our sorrow and healed our care."
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

News of a fair and marvellous thing,
_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._
Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing!
_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

WILLIAM MORRIS.

_An Ode on the Birth of Our Saviour_

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, O Jesu!
Thou pretty baby, born here
With sup'rabundant scorn here:
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.

But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily work will dress thee;
And, as we dispossess thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.

* * * *

ROBERT HERRICK.

_Old Christmas Returned_

All you that to feasting and mirth are inclined,
Come here is good news for to pleasure your mind,
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse:
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef.

The holly and ivy about the walls wind
And show that we ought to our neighbors be kind,
Inviting each other for pastime and sport,
And where we best fare, there we most do resort;
We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef.

All travellers, as they do pass on their way,
At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay,
Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest,
Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest;
Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced pies, and roast beef.

OLD CAROL.

_Ceremonies for Christmas_

Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing,
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your heart's desiring.

With the last year's brand
Light the new block, and
For good success in his spending,
On your psalteries play,
That sweet luck may
Come while the log is a-teending.

Drink now the strong beer,
Cut the white loaf here,
The while the meat is a-shredding;
For the rare mince-pie,
And the plums stand by,
To fill the paste that's a-kneading.

ROBERT HERRICK.

_Christmas in England._

Heap on more wood!--the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still;
Each age has deem'd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer;
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew.

* * * *

On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas Eve the mass was sung:
That only night in all the year
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dressed with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go,
To gather in the mistletoe;
Then open'd wide the baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all.
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And Ceremony doffed his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose;
The Lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of "Post and pair."
All hail'd with uncontroll'd delight
And general voice the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

* * * *

"England was merry England when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year."

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

_From "Marmion."_

_The Gracious Time_

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "Hamlet."_

_Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning_

Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!

Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining,
Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all!

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odors of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation;
Vainly with gifts would His favor secure:
Richer by far is the heart's adoration;
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!

REGINALD HEBER.

THE END

INDEX BY AUTHORS

ADDISON, JOSEPH [1672-1719]:
_The Spacious Firmament on High_, 54.

ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY [1836--]:
_Maple Leaves_, 17;
_Before the Rain_, 31;
_Tiger-Lilies_, 71;
_A Turkish Legend_, 611.

ALEXANDER, CECIL FRANCES [1830-1895]:
_The Burial of Moses_, 504.

ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM [1824-1889]:
_Wild Rose_, 70;
_The Fairy Folk_, 174;
_Blowing Bubbles_, 195;
_Windlass Song_, 268;
_The Abbot of Inisfalen_, 474.

ANDERSON, ALEXANDER [1845--]:
_Cuddle Doon_, 126.

ARNOLD, EDWIN [1831--]:
_Almond Blossom_, 69.

ARNOLD, GEORGE [1834-1865]:
_Sweet September_, 15.

ARNOLD, MATTHEW [1822-1888]:
_The Forsaken Merman_, 444.

AUSTIN, ALFRED [1835--]:
_To America_, 347.

AYTOUN, WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE [1813-1865]:
_The Old Scottish Cavalier_, 281.

BALLADS, OLD:
_Sir Patrick Spens_, 551;
_The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington_, 555;
_King John and the Abbot of Canterbury_, 558;
_Lord Beichan and Susie Pye_, 563;
_The Gay Gos-hawk_, 569;
_Earl Mar's Daughter_, 576;
_Chevy-Chace,_ 582;
_Hynde Horn,_ 593;
_Glenlogie,_ 597.

BARING-GOULD, SABINE [1834--]:
_The Olive Tree_, 619.

BEECHING, HENRY CHARLES [1859--]:
_Bicycling Song_, 196;
_A Boy's Prayer_, 626.

BENNETT, HENRY HOLCOMB [1863--]:
_The Flag Goes By_, 324.

BENNETT, WILLIAM COX [1820-1895]:
_Invocation to Rain in Summer_, 34;
_To a Cricket_, 113.

BLAKE, WILLIAM [1757-1828]:
_The Tiger_, 53.

BOKER, GEORGE HENRY [1823-1890]:
_The Black Regiment_, 326.

BONAR, HORATIO [1808-1890]:
_Be True_, 610.

BROOKS, PHILLIPS [1835-1893]:
_O Little Town of Bethlehem,_ 648.

BROWNELL, HENRY HOWARD [1820-1872]:
_Abraham Lincoln_, 321;
_Night Quarters_, 329.

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT [1809-1861]:
_Reading_ (from "Aurora Leigh"), 209;
_A Portrait_, 231;
_Romance of the Swan's Nest_, 423.

BROWNING, ROBERT [1812-1889]:
_April in England_, 8;
_How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix_, 464;
_The Pied Piper of Hamelin_, 480;
_Herve Riel_, 493;
_Incident of the French Camp_, 544.

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN [1794-1878]:
_March_, 6;
_The Planting of the Apple Tree_, 59;
_To the Fringed Gentian_, 72;
_The Death of the Flowers_, 88;
_To a Waterfowl_, 105;
_The Twenty-second of December_, 306.

BUNYAN, JOHN [1628-1688]:
_The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation_, 610;
_The Pilgrim_, 632.

BURNS, ROBERT [1759-1796]:
_To a Mountain Daisy_, 73;
_Chloe_, 238;
_O Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet_, 239;
_I Love My Jean_, 252;
_My Nannie's Awa'_, 253;
_My Heart's in the Highlands_, 277;
_Bannockburn_, 539.

BYRON, GEORGE GORDON, LORD [1788-1824]:
_Swimming_ (from "The Two Foscari"), 202;
_To the Ocean_ (from "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage"), 225;
_Vision of Belshazzar_, 500;
_The Night before Waterloo_ (from "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage"), 540;
_The Destruction of Sennacherib_, 548.

CAMPBELL, THOMAS [1777-1844]:
_Ye Mariners of England_, 290;
_Lord Ullin's Daughter_, 416;
_Battle of the Baltic_, 511;
_Hohenlinden_, 542.

CAREW, THOMAS [1589-1639]:
_Spring_, 7.

CARLYLE, THOMAS [1795-1881]:
_To-Day_, 602.

CARMAN, BLISS [1861--]:
_A Vagabond Song_, 201.

CARROLL, LEWIS (REV. CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON)[1832-1890]:
_A Song of Love_, 122;
_The Walrus and the Carpenter_, 381.

CARY, ALICE [1820-1871]:
The "_Gray Swan_," 452.

CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH [1819-1861]:
_Where Lies the Land?_ 273.

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR [1772-1834]:
_Kubla Khan_, 160;
_The Knight's Tomb_, 292.

COLLINS, WILLIAM [1720-1756]:
_How Sleep the Brave!_ 292.

COOLIDGE, SUSAN (SARAH C. WOOLSEY) [1845-1905]:
_Bind-Weed_, 74;
_Time to Go_, 86.

CORNWALL, BARRY (BRYAN WALLER PROCTER) [1790-1874]:
_The Hunter's Song_, 223;
_The Blood Horse_, 225;
_The Sea_, 258.

COWPER, WILLIAM [1731-1800]:
_The Diverting History of John Gilpin_, 359;
_On the Loss of the Royal George_, 535.

CRANCH, CHRISTOPHER PEARSE [1813-1892]:
_The Bobolinks_, 103.

CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN [1784-1842]:
_A Sea-Song_, 259;
_Loyalty_, 276.

DELAND, MARGARET [1857--]:
_While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night_, 637.

DICKINSON, EMILY [1830-1886]:
_The Grass_, 81;
_The Bee_, 116;
_Chartless_, 626.

DOBELL, SYDNEY [1824-1874]:
_The Procession of the Flowers_, 67;
_How's My Boy?_ 462.

DOBSON, AUSTIN [1840--]:
_The Child-Musician_, 463.

DOMMETT, ALFRED [1811-1887]:
_A Christmas Hymn_, 646.

DOUGLAS OF FINGLAND, WILLIAM:
_Annie Laurie_, 243.

DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN [1795-1820]:
_The Culprit Fay_ (Extracts), 168;
_The American Flag_ (Extract), 311.

DRAYTON, MICHAEL [1563-1631]:
_A Fine Day_, 5;
_The Arming of Pigwiggen_ (from "Nymphidia"), 149;
_The Battle of Agincourt_, 517.

DRUMMOND, WILLIAM [1585-1649]:
_Phyllis_, 251;
_The Angels_, 636.

DRYDEN, JOHN [1631-1700]:
_Alexander's Feast_ (from "The Ode on St. Cecilia's Day"), 158;
_Fife and Drum_ (from "The Ode on St. Cecilia's Day"), 280.

ELIOT, GEORGE [1820-1880]:
_I Am Lonely_ (from "The Spanish Gypsy"), 128;
_Brother and Sister_, 129.

EMERSON, RALPH WALDO [1803-1882]:
_April and May_ (from "May-Day"), 9;
_The Snow Storm_, 21;
_The Rhodora_, 76;
_The Humble-Bee_, 116;
_Concord Hymn_, 315;
_Ode Sung in the Town Hall, Concord, July 4, 1857_, 316;
_Forbearance_, 603;
_Duty_, 605.

FANSHAWE, CATHERINE M. [1765-1834]:
_A Riddle_, 373.

FLETCHER, JOHN [1576-1625]:
_Evening Song_, 3.

FORD, ROBERT [1846--]:
_The Bonniest Bairn in a' the Warl'_, 125.

FIELD, EUGENE [1850-1895]:
_The Three Kings_, 644.

FIELDS, JAMES T. [1816-1881]:
_Song of the Turtle and Flamingo_, 385.

FITZGERALD, EDWARD [1809-1883]:
_Old Song_, 213.

GAY, JOHN [1688-1732]:
_The Council of Horses_, 356;
_The Lion and the Cub_, 378.

GILBERT, WILLIAM SCHWENCK [1836--]:
_Captain Reece_, 387.

GOLDSMITH, OLIVER [1728-1774]:
_The First, Best Country_ (from "The Traveller"), 275;
_Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog_, 379.

GRAY, THOMAS [1746-1771]:
_On a Favorite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes_, 353;
_Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard_, 612.

HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE [1790-1867]:
_Marco Bozzaris_, 545.

HARTE, BRET [1839-1902]:
_Jessie_, 246;
_The Reveille_, 288;
_A Greyport Legend_, 458.

HAY, JOHN [1838--]:
_The Enchanted Shirt_, 395.

HEBER, REGINALD [1783-1826]:
_Providence_, 119;
_Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning_, 661.

H. H. (HELEN HUNT JACKSON) [1831-1885]:
_October's Bright Blue Weather_, 16;
_Down to Sleep_, 18;
_Coronation_, 620.

HEMANS, FELICIA [1749-1835]:
_Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers_, 305;
_Hymn for Christmas_, 639.

HENLEY, WILLIAM ERNEST [1849-1903]:
_Home_, 131;
_Made in the Hot Weather_, 398.

HERBERT, GEORGE [1593-1632]:
_The Elixir_, 629;
_Be Useful_, 633.

HERRICK, ROBERT [1591-1674]:
_To Daffodils_, 78;
_Going A-Maying_, 197;
_The Star Song_, 638;
_An Ode on the Birth of Our Saviour_, 656;
_Ceremonies for Christmas_, 658.

HIGGINSON, THOMAS WENTWORTH [1823--]:
_The Snowing of the Pines_, 66.

HOGG, JAMES (THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD) [1772-1835]:
_The Skylark_, 102.

HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT [1819-1881]:
_A Christmas Carol_, 635.

"HOLM, SAXE":
_A Song of Clover_, 76.

HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL [1809-1894]:
_Old Ironsides_ (U. S. S. "Constitution"), 312;
_The Chambered Nautilus_, 604.

HOOD, THOMAS [1798-1845]:
_Ruth_, 242;
_November_, 402.

HOUGHTON, LORD (RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES) [1809-1885]:
_Our Mother Tongue_, 345.

HOWE, JULIA WARD [1819--]:
_Battle-Hymn of the Republic_, 331.

HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN [1837--]:
_In August_, 14.

HOWITT, MARY [1804-1888]:
_The Monkey_, 401;
_Old Christmas_, 652.

HOWITT, WILLIAM [1792-1879]:
_The Northern Seas_, 226.

HUNT, JAMES HENRY LEIGH [1784-1859]:
_To the Grasshopper and the Cricket_, 115;
_Two Heavens_, 121;
_Captain Sword_, 403;
_The Glove and the Lions_, 460;
_Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel_, 609.

INGELOW, JEAN [1830-1897]:
_Seven Times Two_, 411;
_The Long White Seam_, 413;
_The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire_, 438.

JONSON, BEN [1574-1637]:
_Hesperus' Song_ (from "Cynthia's Revels"), 151;
_So Sweet Is She_ (from "The Triumph of Charis"), 251;
_The Noble Nature_, 603.

KEATS, JOHN [1796-1820]:
_Morning_, 1;
_Minnows_, 45;
_The Sigh of Silence_, 58;
_Sweet Peas_, 68;
_Goldfinches_, 107;
_On the Grasshopper and Cricket_, 114;
_On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer_, 210;
_December_, 622.

KINGSLEY, CHARLES [1819-1875]:
_Ode to the Northeast Wind_, 36;
_Clear and Cool_ (from "The Water-Babies"), 44;
_A Myth_, 173;
_Ballad_, 422;
_The Sands of Dee_, 450;
_A Farewell_, 625.

KIPLING, RUDYARD [1865--]:
_Recessional_, 297;
_The Dove of Dacca_, 472.

LARCOM, LUCY [1826-1893]:
_Hannah Binding Shoes_, 414.

LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH [1807-1882]:
_The Harvest Moon_, 27;
_Rain in Summer_, 32;
_A New Household_, 121;
_Home Song_, 138;
_The Wreck of the Hesperus_, 454;
_Life_ (from the "Psalm of Life"), 601;
_The Three Kings_, 641.

LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL [1819-1891]:
_June Weather_ (from "The Vision of Sir Launfal"), 11;
_A Winter Morning_ (from "The Vision of Sir Launfal"), 20;
_The Brook in Winter_ (from "The Vision of Sir Launfal"), 42;
_To the Dandelion_ (Extract), 77;
_The Fatherland_, 298;
_Washington_ (from "Under the Old Elm"), 307;
_Stanzas on Freedom_, 317;
_The Singing Leaves_, 407;
_Sir Launfal and the Leper_ (from "The Vision of Sir Launfal"), 606.

LAMB, CHARLES [1775-1834] AND MARY [1765-1847]:
_Feigned Courage_, 374.

LAMB, CHARLES:
_The Housekeeper_, 400.

LANG, ANDREW [1844--]:
_Scythe Song_, 86.

LANIER, SIDNEY [1842-1881]:
_Dear Land of All My Love_ (from "The Centennial Ode," 1876), 301.

MACAULAY, LORD (THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY) [1800-1859]:
_The Armada: A Fragment_, 524;
_Ivry_, 530.

MACDONALD, GEORGE [1824--]:
_Sir Lark and King Sun: A Parable_, 99

MARKHAM, EDWIN [1852--]:
_Lincoln the Great Commoner_, 319.

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER [1564-1593]:
_The Shepherd to His Love_, 420.

MARTIN, WILLIAM [1834-1896]:
_An Apple Orchard in the Spring_, 63.

MARVELL, ANDREW [1621-1678]:
_Bermudas_, 272.

McMASTER, GUY HUMPHREYS [1829-1887]:
_Carmen Bellicosum_, 309.