 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
23
Christmas Day, 1901
Ring out your Christmas music to the fells,
Though blood-drops hang on every holly tree,
Though loud as passionate wind and surging sea,
The air is full of hatred that foretells
The havoc of the nations. Hark! it swells
Fierce and more fierce—wolf-notes of jealousy
Mixed with the cry of Mammon's madding glee—
Wherefore, ring on, ye undisheartened bells!
Though blood-drops hang on every holly tree,
Though loud as passionate wind and surging sea,
The air is full of hatred that foretells
The havoc of the nations. Hark! it swells
Fierce and more fierce—wolf-notes of jealousy
Mixed with the cry of Mammon's madding glee—
Wherefore, ring on, ye undisheartened bells!
For surely never would have come from Heaven
A helpless Babe to mend a world forlorn,
If Love were not designed for slow increase:
To us no full-grown Saviour Lord was born,
To us, as on this day, a Babe was given:
We crown with hope an Infant Prince of Peace.
A helpless Babe to mend a world forlorn,
If Love were not designed for slow increase:
To us no full-grown Saviour Lord was born,
To us, as on this day, a Babe was given:
We crown with hope an Infant Prince of Peace.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |