But the Christmas time returned, As an old friend, for whose eye She would take down all the picturcs Sketch'd by faithful memory. Of those brilliant Christmas seasons, When the joyous laugh went round; When sweet words of love and kindness Were no unfamiliar sound; When, lit by the log's red lustre, She her mother's face could see, And she rocked the cradle, sitting On her own twin-brother's knee: Of her father's pleasant stories; Of the riddles and the rhymes, All the kisses and the presents That had mark'd those Christmas times. 'Twas as well that there was no one (For it were a mocking strain) To wish her a merry Christmas, How there came a time of struggling, In the end give place to Death; How she clung unto her brother As the last spar from the wreck, But stern Death had come between them While her arms were round his neck. There were now no living voices; And, if few hands offered bread, There were none to rest in blessing On the little homeless head. Or, if any gave her shelter, It was less of joy than fear; For they welcomed crime more warmly To the self-same room with her. But at length they all grew weary Of their sick and useless guest; She must try a workhouse welcome For the helpless and distressed. But she prayed; and the Unsleeping In His ear that whisper caught; So, He sent down Sleep who gave her Such a respite as she sought; Drew the fair head to her bosom, Pressed the wetted eyelids close, And, with softly-falling kisses, Lulled her gently to repose. Then she dreamed the angels, sweeping Where a mellowness like moonlight Where the rich fruit sparkled, star-like, Where bright hills of pearl and amber Closed the fair green valleys round, And, with rainbow light, but lasting, Were their glistening summits crown'd. Then that distant-burning glory, 'Mid a gorgeousness of light! The long vista of Archangels Could scarce chasten to her sight. There sat ONE: and her heart told her 'Twas the same who, for our sin, Was born a little baby "In the stable of an inn." There was music-oh, such music!— At a tiny grotto's entrance A fair child her eyes behold, The white arms of her twin-brother Then they all come round her greeting; And the careful look hath vanish'd From her father's tearless face, And she does not know her mother 'Till she feels the old embrace. Oh, from that ecstatic dreaming But her Maker's sternest servant Now the Christmas morn was breaking All the festive bells were chiming Her Christmas-Day in Heaven! MRS. M'INTOSH. "By kind permission of Messrs. Chapman & Hall, and M. M'Intosh, Esq., LL.D.] BEAUTIFUL SNOW. Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow, Dancing-Flirting-Skimming along Beautiful snow! it can do no wrong, Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow, It plays in its glee with every one: Chasing Laughing-Hurrying by, How wild the crowd goes swaying along, Over the crust of the beautiful snow; |