Christmas, 1873

Christmas-Days are still in store:- Will they change-steal faded hither? Or come fresh as heretofore, Summering all our winter weather? Surely they will keep their bloom All the countless pacing ages: In the country whence they come Children only are the sages! Hither, every hour and year, Children come to cure our oldness- Oft, alas, to gather sear Unbelief, and earthy boldness! Men they grow and women cold, Selfish, passionate, and plaining! Ever faster they grow old:- On the world, ah, eld is gaining! Child, whose childhood ne'er departs! Jesus, with the perfect father! Drive the age from parents' hearts; To thy heart the children gather. Send thy birth into our souls, With its grand and tender story. Hark! the gracious thunder rolls!- News to men! to God old glory!