The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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CHRISTMAS. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
316
CHRISTMAS.
Blest Morn, by the Redeemer made the holiest of the year!
In the encircling silence now I feel thy drawing near;
The very frost-wind stealing past, upon my forehead flings
A freshness, wafted by the stir of thy advancing wings:
In clustering constellations, too, the star-troops seem to burn
In all their bright emblazonry, to welcome thy return.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou spiritual time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
In the encircling silence now I feel thy drawing near;
The very frost-wind stealing past, upon my forehead flings
A freshness, wafted by the stir of thy advancing wings:
In clustering constellations, too, the star-troops seem to burn
In all their bright emblazonry, to welcome thy return.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou spiritual time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Rejoice, my spirit, hopefully; yon temple's hoary tower
Gives to the far-pervading night the consecrated hour;
And human voices, here and there, uplift with glad acclaim
A sweet old song of thankfulness to God's transcendent name;
While fancy hears the angel hymn, and sees the star whose ray
Smiled on the lowly manger-roof where God Incarnate lay.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou praise-inspiring time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving and sublime!
Gives to the far-pervading night the consecrated hour;
And human voices, here and there, uplift with glad acclaim
A sweet old song of thankfulness to God's transcendent name;
While fancy hears the angel hymn, and sees the star whose ray
Smiled on the lowly manger-roof where God Incarnate lay.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou praise-inspiring time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving and sublime!
317
Imagination hovers o'er thee, glorious Palestine!
Proud birthplace of the Saviour, that prodigy divine;
Thou saw'st His miracles of love, His excellence of life,
And how He bore with holy calm the malice and the strife
Of cruel and calumnious power, of unbelieving pride,
Though sold, scourged, menaced, and reviled, and by His own denied.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou solemnising time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Proud birthplace of the Saviour, that prodigy divine;
Thou saw'st His miracles of love, His excellence of life,
And how He bore with holy calm the malice and the strife
Of cruel and calumnious power, of unbelieving pride,
Though sold, scourged, menaced, and reviled, and by His own denied.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou solemnising time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Land which beheld upon His brow the diadem of thorns,
Planted by ruffian hands, amid indignities and scorns;
While some, more reckless than the rest, exulting in their deeds,
Spat in that pale and patient face, distained with bloody beads,
Whence came with meek humility the words of sorrow true,
“Father, forgive their ignorance, they know not what they do!”
Hail to thy coming once again, thou sad yet soothing time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Planted by ruffian hands, amid indignities and scorns;
While some, more reckless than the rest, exulting in their deeds,
Spat in that pale and patient face, distained with bloody beads,
Whence came with meek humility the words of sorrow true,
“Father, forgive their ignorance, they know not what they do!”
Hail to thy coming once again, thou sad yet soothing time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Land which beheld, when Heaven had brimmed His earthly cup with woes,
His ordeal of sanguine sweat, His agonising throes,
What time in lone Gethsemane's funereal depths of shade,
A more than human misery was on His spirit laid;
The while with pinched and parched lips, he murmured—“From thy Son
Oh! pass this draught of bitterness; but still, Thy will be done!”
Hail to thy coming once again, thou mournful, musing time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
His ordeal of sanguine sweat, His agonising throes,
What time in lone Gethsemane's funereal depths of shade,
A more than human misery was on His spirit laid;
The while with pinched and parched lips, he murmured—“From thy Son
Oh! pass this draught of bitterness; but still, Thy will be done!”
Hail to thy coming once again, thou mournful, musing time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
318
Land which beheld the final scene of man-redeeming love,
When the dear Jesus loosed His soul to wing its way above;
While rude, remorseless men looked on with wild and wolfish eyes,
Laughed at the spectacle, nor deemed how great the sacrifice,
Till earth put on the dreary robe of black, unnatural night,
Shook tower and temple on her breast, and smote them with affright.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou awe-creating time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
When the dear Jesus loosed His soul to wing its way above;
While rude, remorseless men looked on with wild and wolfish eyes,
Laughed at the spectacle, nor deemed how great the sacrifice,
Till earth put on the dreary robe of black, unnatural night,
Shook tower and temple on her breast, and smote them with affright.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou awe-creating time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Sweet to behold thy influence o'er all the Christian world;
To see the banner of “good will” spontaneously unfurled;
To find our daily fears forgot, our enmities forgiven,
And hearts grow dearer each to each, and nearer unto heaven:
To know that 'midst the multitudes one simultaneous tone
Of joyance and benevolence respondeth to our own.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou humanising time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
To see the banner of “good will” spontaneously unfurled;
To find our daily fears forgot, our enmities forgiven,
And hearts grow dearer each to each, and nearer unto heaven:
To know that 'midst the multitudes one simultaneous tone
Of joyance and benevolence respondeth to our own.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou humanising time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
In crowded cities men forego their wretchedness and wrongs,
New pleasure lighteth up their eyes, and leapeth from their tongues;
In palace and in cottage homes, one sentiment is rife;
On mountain slopes, in lonely glens, awakes more buoyant life;
In stern, unpeopled forest glooms, on 'wildering seas and wide,
Hand claspeth hand, soul clings to soul, and care is cast aside.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou sympathetic time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
New pleasure lighteth up their eyes, and leapeth from their tongues;
In palace and in cottage homes, one sentiment is rife;
On mountain slopes, in lonely glens, awakes more buoyant life;
In stern, unpeopled forest glooms, on 'wildering seas and wide,
Hand claspeth hand, soul clings to soul, and care is cast aside.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou sympathetic time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
319
Blest season! when the friendly draught, in darkness prisoned long,
Flows o'er the laughing lip, and wakes the slumbering voice of song;
When music thrills the holly bough, and stirs the languid breast,
And frankly from the glowing heart is flung the harmless jest;
When modest maidenhood grows gay, and childhood frolics wild,
And age remembers lovingly that Jesus was a Child.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou free and festive time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Flows o'er the laughing lip, and wakes the slumbering voice of song;
When music thrills the holly bough, and stirs the languid breast,
And frankly from the glowing heart is flung the harmless jest;
When modest maidenhood grows gay, and childhood frolics wild,
And age remembers lovingly that Jesus was a Child.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou free and festive time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Blest season! yet not blest to all, save in the holy sense
Of sweet salvation, and the power of high omnipotence;
How many at this festal time confront the coming year
With desperate hearts, upbraiding eyes, and souls which know no cheer:
Oh! that the human family could each and all partake
One creed, one comfort, and one joy, blithe Christmas! for thy sake.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou meditative time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
Of sweet salvation, and the power of high omnipotence;
How many at this festal time confront the coming year
With desperate hearts, upbraiding eyes, and souls which know no cheer:
Oh! that the human family could each and all partake
One creed, one comfort, and one joy, blithe Christmas! for thy sake.
Hail to thy coming once again, thou meditative time!
Morn of a mighty mystery, soul-saving, and sublime!
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |