A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS

Chant me a rhyme of Christmas —

Sing me a jovial song,—

And though it is filled with laughter,

Let it be pure and strong.

Let it be clear and ringing,

And though it mirthful be,

Let a low, sweet voice of pathos

Run through the melody.

Sing of the hearts brimmed over

With the story of the day —

Of the echo of childish voices

That will not die away.—

Of the blare of the tasselled bugle,

And the timeless clatter and beat

Of the drum that throbs to muster

Squadrons of scampering feet.—

Of the wide-eyed look of wonder,

And the gurgle of baby-glee,

As the infant hero wrestles

From the smiling father's knee.

Sing the delights unbounded

Of the home unknown of care,

Where wealth as a guest abideth,

And want is a stranger there.

But O let your voice fall fainter,

Till, blent with a minor tone,

You temper your song with the beauty

Of the pity Christ hath shown:

And sing one verse for the voiceless;

And yet, ere the song be done,

A verse for the ears that hear not,

And a verse for the sightless one:

And one for the outcast mother,

And one for the sin-defiled

And hopeless sick man dying,

And one for his starving child.

For though it be time for singing

A merry Christmas glee,

Let a low, sweet voice of pathos

Run through the melody.