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(CHRISTMAS IN THE HOSPITAL.)
Lay an old man 'mid the darkness of a rudely furnished room,
While the Christmas bells were searching through the early morning's gloom.
Not in costly vestments lay he, such as o'er him once might fall;
Not with comforts at his bidding, or with servants at his call;
Not with gold and silver pleading that the hungry eyes rejoice;
Not with silken banknotes whisp'ring to the magic of his voice;
Not with loving kin around him, eager, in the morning light,
With fond gifts demurely hidden, all the more to glad his sight;
No: in pain-environed precincts of a hospital he lay,
With gaunt poverty around him—waiting for the dawn of day.
While the Christmas bells were searching through the early morning's gloom.
Not in costly vestments lay he, such as o'er him once might fall;
Not with comforts at his bidding, or with servants at his call;
Not with gold and silver pleading that the hungry eyes rejoice;
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Not with loving kin around him, eager, in the morning light,
With fond gifts demurely hidden, all the more to glad his sight;
No: in pain-environed precincts of a hospital he lay,
With gaunt poverty around him—waiting for the dawn of day.
Then the glad bells ceased their ringing, and the old man, sad and lone,
Felt the torture of the absence of the hearts that were his own;
And his thoughts ran back to mornings when he hailed with joy that day:
When a Christmas meant a triumph, and the world was sweet and gay.
“O my peerless Christ!” he murmured: “you whose justice never flags!
Is't because I strove to serve you, that I lie today in rags?
Felt the torture of the absence of the hearts that were his own;
And his thoughts ran back to mornings when he hailed with joy that day:
When a Christmas meant a triumph, and the world was sweet and gay.
“O my peerless Christ!” he murmured: “you whose justice never flags!
Is't because I strove to serve you, that I lie today in rags?
“All the bright years that I prospered, never once I thought of gain,
But to make my earth-mates happy, and to ease them of their pain.
All these long years hard I labored—with each waking breath I drew,
Not for friend and neighbor only, but for every one I knew!
Toiled I not alone for even those that near me did abide—
But for those whose needs were calling from the ocean's farther side;
Toiled I not alone for mortals who into my friendship came,
But for those who wrecked my fortunes—and who plotted for my shame.
Toiled I not alone 'mid riches: but with nought to call mine own,
Still I strove with mind and heart-throbs, for the sufferings I have known.
But to make my earth-mates happy, and to ease them of their pain.
All these long years hard I labored—with each waking breath I drew,
Not for friend and neighbor only, but for every one I knew!
Toiled I not alone for even those that near me did abide—
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Toiled I not alone for mortals who into my friendship came,
But for those who wrecked my fortunes—and who plotted for my shame.
Toiled I not alone 'mid riches: but with nought to call mine own,
Still I strove with mind and heart-throbs, for the sufferings I have known.
“Do not think, O Christ! that boasting I would call upon thy name:
Do not think, O blameless martyr! that I come to thee with blame!
Do not think, O Prince imprisoned in a world of endless strife,
That I have not conned the lessons of thy grand unselfish life;
I have suffered, I will suffer, any torture from thy hand.
I just tell thee—as my teacher—that I do not understand.”
Do not think, O blameless martyr! that I come to thee with blame!
Do not think, O Prince imprisoned in a world of endless strife,
That I have not conned the lessons of thy grand unselfish life;
I have suffered, I will suffer, any torture from thy hand.
I just tell thee—as my teacher—that I do not understand.”
Thus in misery and in sorrow, and in meditation deep,
With his woe and pain exhausted, sank the sufferer into sleep:
Sleep as deep and full of mercy as a mortal e'er can find—
Walking in the stillest regions of the ocean of the mind;
Sleep that maybe guides to regions that so flooded are with light,
That the very sun above us seems a spectre of the night;
Sleep that maybe shuts from hearing every human sound and word,
So that angels venture nearer, and can whisper and be heard.
Dearest Sleep! that smooths to velvet all the roughness of the ways—
Dearest Sleep! the star-gemmed cushion 'twixt the jostling of the days!
With his woe and pain exhausted, sank the sufferer into sleep:
Sleep as deep and full of mercy as a mortal e'er can find—
Walking in the stillest regions of the ocean of the mind;
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That the very sun above us seems a spectre of the night;
Sleep that maybe shuts from hearing every human sound and word,
So that angels venture nearer, and can whisper and be heard.
Dearest Sleep! that smooths to velvet all the roughness of the ways—
Dearest Sleep! the star-gemmed cushion 'twixt the jostling of the days!
What is this! a dream—a vision—that his senses overpowers?
Or are those but dreams and visions, that we call the waking hours?
Does the absence of the clamor of the daylight oft reveal
That the things we know are shadows, and the unknown is the real?
Or are those but dreams and visions, that we call the waking hours?
Does the absence of the clamor of the daylight oft reveal
That the things we know are shadows, and the unknown is the real?
He was in a stately mansion: with unnumbered gilded halls,
And a thousand splendid pictures flashing from the stately walls.
'Neath his feet were gorgeous carpets never known to earthly loom,
Round him lamps of softened splendor smiled their cheer throughout the room;
Mirrors framed with skill and cunning made the palace-splendors more,
And repeated all its treasures to the glad eye o'er and o'er;
Out of lofty little mansions floated music sweetly clear,
Such as never yet was mortal on this earth allowed to hear.
And a thousand splendid pictures flashing from the stately walls.
'Neath his feet were gorgeous carpets never known to earthly loom,
Round him lamps of softened splendor smiled their cheer throughout the room;
Mirrors framed with skill and cunning made the palace-splendors more,
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Out of lofty little mansions floated music sweetly clear,
Such as never yet was mortal on this earth allowed to hear.
And alone but for a moment did this wondering pilgrim stand;
Came his wife and came his children: and they clung unto his hand.
Came a thousand friends and neighbors whose loved names were covered o'er
By the moss of many summers, on the green grave's marble door;
Came a father with a smile that now was rested and serene;
And upon his arm a mother whom he ne'er before had seen;
Came a thousand, shining brighter for the dark of Death's eclipse,
With the simple words “You helped me” on their true and grateful lips.
Came his wife and came his children: and they clung unto his hand.
Came a thousand friends and neighbors whose loved names were covered o'er
By the moss of many summers, on the green grave's marble door;
Came a father with a smile that now was rested and serene;
And upon his arm a mother whom he ne'er before had seen;
Came a thousand, shining brighter for the dark of Death's eclipse,
With the simple words “You helped me” on their true and grateful lips.
Then came Christ, and said, “Not longer much, your good brave life endures:
Then this mansion and these hand-clasps all forever-more are yours.”
Then this mansion and these hand-clasps all forever-more are yours.”
Nurses wondered on the morrow, why the look of pain and woe
Had departed from the patient that had grieved and suffered so;
But he knew: and with rejoicing oft he murmured o'er and o'er,
“My next Christmas casts not shadows, but a blesséd light, before!”
Had departed from the patient that had grieved and suffered so;
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“My next Christmas casts not shadows, but a blesséd light, before!”
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