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18
CHRISTMAS EVE
'Mid lights, and colour, and music, and dance,
Her heart is bounding, her swift feet glance;
While a thousand eyes are strained to behold her,
A thousand hands to applaud.—'Tis done:
The curtain falls, and her triumph is won,
As their shouts, and their bouquets they fling, have told her.
Her heart is bounding, her swift feet glance;
While a thousand eyes are strained to behold her,
A thousand hands to applaud.—'Tis done:
The curtain falls, and her triumph is won,
As their shouts, and their bouquets they fling, have told her.
Out from the theatre, into the street,
To where they are gathered at Mass to greet
The new-born Infant, she straightway turns.
The Host is offered, the chanting ends:
At the young Child's feet, as she lowly bends,
She lays her flowers, where the crib's light burns.
To where they are gathered at Mass to greet
The new-born Infant, she straightway turns.
The Host is offered, the chanting ends:
At the young Child's feet, as she lowly bends,
She lays her flowers, where the crib's light burns.
What were it fitter to lay before Him?
Wherewithal may she better adore Him?
Here for His birthday, on bended knees,
Fruit of the gifts that His grace bestows,
Sign that her triumph to Him she owes,—
O Child and Master, she gives you these!
Wherewithal may she better adore Him?
Here for His birthday, on bended knees,
Fruit of the gifts that His grace bestows,
Sign that her triumph to Him she owes,—
O Child and Master, she gives you these!
December 25th, 1888.
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