Chapter III

O radiant Night! O Night of nights!
Thy bells ring sweet from Paradise;
Thine orient Star, eternal, lights
The Crib where Jesus lies!
Wealth of the poor, the mourner’s joy,
The sinner’s shield, the captive’s hope,
This Babe--the Virgin’s sinless Boy--
Shall sin and hell and death destroy,
And heaven’s portals ope!

Sing _Gloria_, sing _Gloria_
_In excelsis Deo!_

At Dame Noël’s.

AN OLD-WORLD TRADITION.

The clock strikes Twelve! ’Tis Christmas Eve
At old Dame Noël’s farm;
Beyond the house, with holly wreathed,
The barn in mistletoe is sheathed.
(God save us from all harm!)

The red cock to the manger springs,
And shrills its Christmas prayer;
Three times, it flaps its shining wings,
Then, “_Christus--natus--est!_”--it sings.
--The ox roars “_Ubi?_--Where?”

But, soft thro’ swaths of sun-dried grass,
It hears the lamb below,
From out the shimmering, scented mass,
Bleat: “_Beth’lem! Beth’lem!_”--Brays the ass:
“_Eamus!_--Let us go!”

And ’round about the hive (whose zone
Shall summer sweets embalm),
The bees go floating as they drone,
Go floating, as they thus intone
Their honeyed, midnight psalm:

“_Let all Creation praise the Lord,
Who comes to men this Christmas morn:
The Son of God, th’ Incarnate Word,
In Bethlehem of Mary born!_

“_Good ox, good ass, your brothers wait
This hour beside His Crib--A sign
There, too, is thine, meek lamb; thy Mate
Is Blessed Mary’s Lamb divine!_

“_And, from thy seed, bold Chanticleer!
Shall spring that bird of Passiontide,
Whose voice shall thrice to Peter’s ear
Proclaim: ‘Thou hast thy Lord denied!’_

“_Ah! tho’ we little bees may ne’er
Find in the Holy Babe, our part;
Nor, with our sweetest honey, dare
To heal His tender, bleeding heart;_

“_Tho’ none of us may share Man’s grace,
Nor claim his Saviour newly-born,
Yet do we still His mercies praise,
And bless His birth, this Christmas morn!_”

* * * * *

Thus do the bonny creatures strive
To hail Love’s mystery;
In comely shapes, alert, alive,
Thus do they greet, in stall and hive,
Our Lord’s Nativity!

Thus, do the Soulless keep the feast
At old Dame Noël’s farm;
The Christmas star shines in the east,
Soft chimes the bell--swift glides the priest--
God save us from all harm!

A Murillo.

The lovely Christ-Child, like a lily, lies
Within His Maiden Mother’s pure embrace--
The azure depths of her adoring eyes,
The faithful mirrors of His glorious face!

The while upon her bosom, warm and white,
She shelters Him, with love and tender awe,
From the bleak darkness of the winter night,
From the rough manger and the bristling straw,

The shepherds at the dazzling Vision stare;
The gentle beasts, at Joseph’s touch, bow down;
And angel choirs in vibrant tones declare
That Christ is born a babe in David’s town!

O Babyhood, the harbinger of hope
To every babe enthroned on woman’s breast!
O Motherhood, within whose gracious scope
All lesser motherhood is shrined and blessed!

No sceptred Cæsar can dispute _your_ sway--
Angels or men your golden mission claim--
For yours is Christ--to-day and yesterday,
And thro’ the eternal ages, still the same!

The Stable of Bethlehem.

There is no ante-chamber in this royal palace,
There are no waiting-rooms of haughty state:
No chamberlain austere, no courtiers puff’d with malice,
To shut us out from where the King doth wait--
The new-born King, unscepter’d and uncrown’d,
In swaddling-bands of lowly linen bound.

Open and wide to all, are these old palace-portals--
The very beasts have found their way therein.
Amid the thronging Angels, would ye seek for mortals?
Behold the Virgin without stain of sin,
And Joseph, her chaste spouse!--Thrice blesséd pair!
They kneel before the Babe in wordless prayer!

The sweetest, fairest Babe e’er seen! Thro’ ruined rafters,
The happy stars shine in upon His stall;
The keen wind, blowing from the fields and mountain-pastures,
Deepens the rose-tint of His visage small,
And bids His hands, on Mary’s bosom, glow
Like soft, pink blossoms on a drift of snow.

Kneel and adore Him! Bring your hearts, as stainless lilies,
To cast before His darling, dimpled feet!
Soon shall the shepherds from the dusky hills and valleys,
In simple faith, around His manger meet;
And stately Kings, on wondrous quest intent,
Shall bring their gifts from out the Orient.

O Love, so free, so royal, yet so condescending--
So unpretentious in Thy majesty!
As Thy beginning, even so shall be Thine ending
Upon the open heights of Calvary!
A fountain, free to all beneath God’s heaven,
Wherein all sinners may be cleansed and shriven!

Here is the well-spring of those sparkling, saving waters--
Here, in the heart of Mary’s Blessed Boy!
From out the Saviour’s fountains, O earth’s sons and daughters,
Ye shall draw graces with exceeding joy;
And, with the Christmas Angels, rapturous, sing:
Glory and homage to the new-born King!

The Three Masses on Christmas Day.