* * * * * A CHRISTMAS HYMN ALFRED DOMETT 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 hush'd domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars, Held undisturb'd their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. 'T was 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 reck'd 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, Fall'n through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He pass'd--for nought 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! O strange indifference!--low and high Drows'd 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 link'd, 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, charm'd 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. * * * * * BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING REGINALD HEBER 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.