Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the awful will, And bear it with an honest heart. Who misses, or who wins the prize,-- Go, lose or conquer as you can; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman. A gentleman, or old or young! (Bear kindly with my humble lays;) The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days; The shepherds heard it overhead,-- The joyful angels raised it then: Glory to Heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men! My song, save this, is little worth; I lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health and love and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. As fits the holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends, our carol still,-- Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. * * * * * THE NEW YEAR. FROM "IN MEMORIAM," CV. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night-- Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new--, Ring happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land-- Ring in the Christ that is to be. ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON * * * * * LIFE. It is not life upon thy gifts to live, But to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee; And when the sun and showers their bounties give, To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tree Whose green head meets the eye for many a mile, Whose spreading boughs a friendly shelter rear, And full-faced fruits their blushing welcome smile As to its goodly shade our feet draw near. Who tastes its gifts shall never hunger more, For 't is the Father spreads the pure repast, Who, while we eat, renews the ready store, Which at his bounteous board must ever last; And, as the more we to his children lend, The more to us doth of his bounty send.