“_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!’_ [Illustration] “_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;_ [Illustration] “_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! [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] 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, [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] 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. [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] 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. [Illustration]