They are ringing to-night through the Norway firs, And across the Swedish fells, And the Cuban palm-tree dreamily stirs To the sound of those Christmas Bells! They ring where the Indian Ganges rolls Its flood through the rice-fields wide; They swell the far hymns of the Lapps and Poles To the praise of the Crucified. Sweeter than tones of the ocean's shells Mingle the chimes of the Christmas Bells! The years come not back that have circled away With the past of the Eastern land, When He plucked the corn on the Sabbath day And healed the withered hand: But the bells shall join in a joyous chime For the One who walked the sea, And ring again for the better time Of the Christ that is to be! Then ring!--for earth's best promise dwells In ye, O joyous Prophet Bells! Ring out at the meeting of night and morn For the dawn of a happier day! Lo, the stone from our faith's great sepulchre torn The angels have rolled away! And they come to us here in our low abode, With words like the sunrise gleam,-- Come down and ascend by that heavenly road That Jacob saw in his dream. Spirit of love, that in music dwells, Open our hearts with the Christmas Bells! Help us to see that the glad heart prays As well as the bended knees; That there are in our own as in ancient days The Scribes and the Pharisees; That the Mount of Transfiguration still Looks down on these Christian lands, And the glorified ones from that holy hill Are reaching their helping hands. These be the words our music tells Of solemn joy, O Christmas Bells! * * * * * THE BIRTH OF CHRIST ALFRED TENNYSON The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid--the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound. Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate and now decrease, Peace and good-will, good-will and peace, Peace and good-will to all mankind. Rise, happy morn! rise, holy morn! Draw forth the cheerful day from night; O Father! touch the east, and light The light that shone when hope was born! * * * * * THE CHRISTMAS CAROL WILLIAM WORDSWORTH The minstrels played their Christmas tune To-night beneath my cottage eaves; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen That overpowered their natural green.