 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
175
THE CHRISTMAS BELLS.
No flocks and bells
Are on the fells,
The sheep are in the vale;
But near and far,
From belfry bar,
There goes a good old tale,
The bells of Christmastide that ring,
Against the coming of the King.
Are on the fells,
The sheep are in the vale;
But near and far,
From belfry bar,
There goes a good old tale,
The bells of Christmastide that ring,
Against the coming of the King.
With joy and hope,
The merry rope
Leaps dancing from the ground;
With steady sway,
From stay to stay,
The solemn bells swing round,
And silent hills, that watch and hear,
Beat back the news along the mere.
The merry rope
Leaps dancing from the ground;
With steady sway,
From stay to stay,
The solemn bells swing round,
And silent hills, that watch and hear,
Beat back the news along the mere.
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Though winds are chill,
The heron's bill
Is busy by the lake;
The white owls crow
Across the snow,
They needs their meal must make,
They cannot pause to wonder why
The night air throbs with melody.
The heron's bill
Is busy by the lake;
The white owls crow
Across the snow,
They needs their meal must make,
They cannot pause to wonder why
The night air throbs with melody.
Where great men dine
Flows talk and wine,
The meats are flashed about;
But as they drink
They little think
What music is without;
And at the windows idly beat
The words those merry bells repeat.
Flows talk and wine,
The meats are flashed about;
But as they drink
They little think
What music is without;
And at the windows idly beat
The words those merry bells repeat.
But on the farm
Has come a charm,
The airiest of spells;
Rob still must bide
To open wide
The barn, to hear the bells;
With lingering step to-night he plies
His frosty farm-yard ministries.
Has come a charm,
The airiest of spells;
Rob still must bide
To open wide
The barn, to hear the bells;
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His frosty farm-yard ministries.
Upon his tramp,
The shepherd's lamp
To-night stands steady, oft;
For up the hill
The church bells still
Sound cheerily and soft;
Though he has heard their tune for years
A strange new thing is in his ears.
The shepherd's lamp
To-night stands steady, oft;
For up the hill
The church bells still
Sound cheerily and soft;
Though he has heard their tune for years
A strange new thing is in his ears.
On pillow props,
Poor Elsie stops
In middle of her prayer;
Such sounds were given
From out of heaven,
She says, to guide her there;
And hands upon the window latch,
Let in the humming at the thatch.
Poor Elsie stops
In middle of her prayer;
Such sounds were given
From out of heaven,
She says, to guide her there;
And hands upon the window latch,
Let in the humming at the thatch.
The old man reads,
The grandchild heeds,
And crawls along the floor,
With fret and cry
Its fingers try
The bolts upon the door;
And soon the elder children stand
Out in the lane, a listening band.
The grandchild heeds,
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With fret and cry
Its fingers try
The bolts upon the door;
And soon the elder children stand
Out in the lane, a listening band.
But by the fire
The aged sire,
He rocks him to and fro,
Those sad church bells
Their music tells
Of Christmas long ago.
Outside the children laugh to hear,
Inside the old man drops a tear.
The aged sire,
He rocks him to and fro,
Those sad church bells
Their music tells
Of Christmas long ago.
Outside the children laugh to hear,
Inside the old man drops a tear.
Laid on his back
Behind some stack,
Less cold the beggar feels;
Loudest of all
To him they call,
Those gladsome Christmas peals.
Men's hearts—but why he does not know—
At such a season warmer grow.
Behind some stack,
Less cold the beggar feels;
Loudest of all
To him they call,
Those gladsome Christmas peals.
Men's hearts—but why he does not know—
At such a season warmer grow.
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Not recking much
Whose souls they touch,
The breathless ringers ring,
They little ken,
Those simple men,
What messages they wing,
But as each echoing bell comes up
An angel fills its iron cup.
Whose souls they touch,
The breathless ringers ring,
They little ken,
Those simple men,
What messages they wing,
But as each echoing bell comes up
An angel fills its iron cup.
From their full throats
A thousand notes
To village hearts are sent,
And some are glad,
And some are sad,
But all are much content;
For as is meet, the bells recall
How Christ was born to save them all.
A thousand notes
To village hearts are sent,
And some are glad,
And some are sad,
But all are much content;
For as is meet, the bells recall
How Christ was born to save them all.
Not curtains long,
Nor windows strong,
Keep out the roundelay,
For high and low,
Who list, may know
What words the church bells say;
Their Christmas tale alone is barred
From hearts whom selfishness makes hard.
Nor windows strong,
Keep out the roundelay,
For high and low,
Who list, may know
What words the church bells say;
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From hearts whom selfishness makes hard.
Still, as of old,
Christ's birth is told
To men of humblest home;
Still throbbing air
Can make minds 'ware
That Christmas-tide is come,
And he who has not where to rest
May hear the joyous tidings best.
Christ's birth is told
To men of humblest home;
Still throbbing air
Can make minds 'ware
That Christmas-tide is come,
And he who has not where to rest
May hear the joyous tidings best.
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