I long to take them to my heart and kiss them, And hear those still small voices laugh my name. "Some over whom no violet yet is growing; Some under broken marble, ages old; Some lie full fathom five where seas are flowing; Some, among cliffs and chasms, died a-cold; "Some through the long Wars of the Roses faded; Some did walk barefoot to the Holy Land; Some show young faces with the bride's-veil shaded; Some touch me with the nun's all-gracious hand; "Some in the purple with crown-jewels burning, Some in the peasant's hodden-gray go by, Some in forlornest prisons darkly yearning For earth and grass, the dove's wing and the sky. "One sails to wake a world that has been lying Hid in its leaves, far in the lonesome West, In an enchanted sleep, with strange winds sighing Among the strange flowers in her dreaming breast. And One--I held Him first--the immortal Stranger! I smell, to-night, the frankincense and myrrh; I see the star-led wise men and the manger; And his own Mother--I remember her! "But--where's my cloak? Is this a time for sorrow? ... And where's the story, do you ask of me? To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow! And shall you have it then? Why--we shall see! [Illustration: 0036] CHRISTMAS. By Mrs. L. C. Whiton. |MAMMA, what is Christmas?" How can I say? I will try to answer you "true as true." It is just the loveliest, lovely day, That is steeped in rose-color all the way through! When miniature toy-shops in stockings are found, That are left in the chambers without a sound; And papa gives gifts with a tender cheer; And brother "hurrahs for the top of the year;" And sister looks on with her wistful eyes, With a soft, sweet smile at every surprise: And Christmas means this: A little child's bliss, And the love of the dear Christ felt like a kiss. And a piled-up glory is hard to express; And "What is Christmas?" is wonder for all. It is when the earth puts on holiday dress, Made spotless fair with snowflakes that fall; When hearts are lavish with treasures of love, And the pale, pure stars shine brighter above; And the dancing firelight seems to play In the most mysterious, haunting way; And the house fairies wander from sweet to sweet, With an unexplored kingdom laid at their feet: And Christmas means this: A little child's bliss, And the love of the dear Christ felt like a kiss. And still "What is Christmas?" Darling, come here. It is meant for the birthday, "true as true," Of a beautiful child that was born in Judea,