The idle humble hill and wood Are bowed about the sacred birth, And for one little hour the earth Is lazy with the love of good-- (But ready are you, and ready am I, If the battle blow and the guns go by; For we are for all men under the sun, And they are against us every one; And the men that hate herd all together, To pride and gold, and the great white feather, And the thing is graven in star and stone That the men who love are all alone). Hunger is hard and time is tough, But bless the beggars and kiss the kings, For hope has broken the heart of things, And nothing was ever praised enough. (But hold the shield for a sudden swing And point the sword when you praise a thing, For we are for all men under the sun, And they are against us every one, And mime and merchant, thane and thrall Hate us because we love them all, Only till Christmastide go by Passionate peace is in the sky). _'The Commonwealth.'_ DECEMBER 25th _CHRISTMAS DAY_ There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy stable close at hand, With shaking timber and shifting sand, Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand Than the square stones of Rome. For men are homesick in their homes, And strangers under the sun, And they lay their heads in a foreign land Whenever the day is done. Here we have battle and blazing eyes, And chance and honour and high surprise, But our homes are under miraculous skies Where the Yule tale was begun. A Child in a foul stable, Where the beasts feed and foam, Only where He was homeless Are you and I at home: We have hands that fashion and heads that know, But our hearts we lost--how long ago! In a place no chart nor ship can show Under the sky's dome. This world is wild as an old wives' tale, And strange the plain things are, The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war; But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings And our peace is put in impossible things Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star. To an open house in the evening Home shall all men come, To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home. _The House of Christmas: 'Daily News.'_ DECEMBER 26th _BOXING DAY_