 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
 | Songs of two centuries |  |
20
WHAT SHALL WE GIVE?
What shall we give on a Christmas day?—
Money?—they say it is sordid and old,
And hearts that are seeking the upward way,
Are crushed to earth by the weight of gold.
And still does the bank-note's whisper bring
The palace of pleasure yet more near;
And fair-faced coin, as together they ring,
Are silver and golden bells of cheer.
So let not sentiment war with thrift;
But mingle them both, in a Christmas gift.
Money?—they say it is sordid and old,
And hearts that are seeking the upward way,
Are crushed to earth by the weight of gold.
And still does the bank-note's whisper bring
The palace of pleasure yet more near;
And fair-faced coin, as together they ring,
Are silver and golden bells of cheer.
So let not sentiment war with thrift;
But mingle them both, in a Christmas gift.
Give me a cluster of precious gems!
Stars of the earth, that were born to rise
Into affection's diadems—
Into the lover's changeful skies.—
Though all the jewels of rock and tide
Should weave together in one strong ray,
'Twere nought but a burst of glow, beside
The deathless glory of Christmas day!
Yet costly love is the earth-cloud's rift;
And gems are a goodly Christmas gift.
Stars of the earth, that were born to rise
Into affection's diadems—
Into the lover's changeful skies.—
Though all the jewels of rock and tide
Should weave together in one strong ray,
'Twere nought but a burst of glow, beside
The deathless glory of Christmas day!
Yet costly love is the earth-cloud's rift;
And gems are a goodly Christmas gift.
I see the broideries' colors flow
Through palace-parlors and humble rooms:
Flit delicate fingers to and fro—
The ivory shuttles of living looms.
Toil on at your queenly task, O queens!
And wield your sceptres of form and hue;
The dainty fittings you give life's scenes,
Will last eternity's drama through.
Earth's clouded curtains will fade and shift;
But loving toil is a deathless gift.
Through palace-parlors and humble rooms:
Flit delicate fingers to and fro—
The ivory shuttles of living looms.
Toil on at your queenly task, O queens!
And wield your sceptres of form and hue;
21
Will last eternity's drama through.
Earth's clouded curtains will fade and shift;
But loving toil is a deathless gift.
What shall we give on a Christmas day?—
Whatever a heart to a heart can spare;
Whate'er through the dark can throw a ray—
Whate'er can fetter the hands of care.—
Not all the riches of earth and sea
Could build their statues one soul above;
And presents, if rightly weighed, must be
Hung first on the golden scales of love.
While ever to Heaven our thanks uplift:
For God invented the Christmas gift.
Whatever a heart to a heart can spare;
Whate'er through the dark can throw a ray—
Whate'er can fetter the hands of care.—
Not all the riches of earth and sea
Could build their statues one soul above;
And presents, if rightly weighed, must be
Hung first on the golden scales of love.
While ever to Heaven our thanks uplift:
For God invented the Christmas gift.
| Songs of two centuries | |