 | The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell |  |
THE CHRIST OF THE SNOWS
A NORWEGIAN LEGEND
Set wine on the table
And bread on the plate;
Cast logs on the ashes,
And reverent wait.
And bread on the plate;
Cast logs on the ashes,
And reverent wait.
349
The wine of love's sweetness
Set out in thy breast,
And the white bread of welcome,
To comfort the Guest.
Set out in thy breast,
And the white bread of welcome,
To comfort the Guest.
For surely He cometh,
Now midnight is near;
The wild winds, like wolf-packs,
Have fled in their fear,
Now midnight is near;
The wild winds, like wolf-packs,
Have fled in their fear,
Or hid in far fiords,
Or died on the floes:
For surely He cometh,
Our Christ of the Snows.
Or died on the floes:
For surely He cometh,
Our Christ of the Snows.
Along by the portal,
Half joy and half fear,
Wait man, maid, and matron
The step none shall hear;
Half joy and half fear,
Wait man, maid, and matron
The step none shall hear;
The babe at the doorway,
And age with eyes dim,—
They whom birth near or death near
Make closest to Him.
And age with eyes dim,—
They whom birth near or death near
Make closest to Him.
The clock tolleth midnight:
Cast open the door;
Shrink back ere He passeth,
Kneel all on the floor.
Cast open the door;
Shrink back ere He passeth,
Kneel all on the floor.
The stillness of terror
Possesseth the night,
From star-haunted heaven
To snow spaces white.
Possesseth the night,
From star-haunted heaven
To snow spaces white.
350
Lo! shaken by ghost gods
Who angrily fly,
The banners of Odin
Flame red on the sky.
Who angrily fly,
The banners of Odin
Flame red on the sky.
The last note hath stricken:
Did He pass? Was He here?
Is it sorrow or joy that
Shall rule the new year?
Did He pass? Was He here?
Is it sorrow or joy that
Shall rule the new year?
The mother who watcheth
The face of the child
Saith, Ah, He was with us,—
The baby hath smiled!
The face of the child
Saith, Ah, He was with us,—
The baby hath smiled!
The virgin who bends o'er
The cup on the board
Cries, Lo! the wine trembled,—
'T was surely the Lord!
The cup on the board
Cries, Lo! the wine trembled,—
'T was surely the Lord!
Sing Christmas, sweet Christmas,
All good men below;
Sing Christmas that bringeth
Our Christ of the Snow.
All good men below;
Sing Christmas that bringeth
Our Christ of the Snow.
1880.
| The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | |