CHRISTMAS-TIDE by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER

AT Christmas-tide the fields are bare,
A shiver of frost is in the air;
The wind blows keen across the wold,
Gone is the autumn's glimmer of gold;
But lo! a red rose opens wide
In the glowing light of the ingleside—
A rose whose fragrance, sweet and far,
Is shed at the beaming of Bethlehem's star;
And once again the angels sing
That Love is heaven and Christ is King.

At Christmas-tide the children go
With dancing footsteps over the snow;
At Christmas-tide the world is bright
With the sudden splendor that thrilled the night,
And made the dawn a shining way,
When first earth wakened to Christmas-day.

Ah! hide your faces, churls and rude,
For none have a heart to share your mood;
At Christmas-tide the open hand
Scatters its bounty o'er sea and land.
And none are left to grieve alone,
For Love is heaven and claims its own.

At Christmas-tide there are chiming bells:
Oh, silvery clear their cadence swells.
They smite the cold of Arctic plains,
They ripple through falling of tropic rains;
In palaces men pause to hear
The wonderful message of peace and cheer;
In lowly huts the peasants pray
With blessing to God for the happy day.
On every breeze the joy is borne
Around the globe on the Christmas morn;
And loud once more the angels sing
That Love is heaven and Christ is King.

At Christmas-tide like incense-fires
Arise the chants of stately choirs,
And priestly voices lead the prayers
Where God's dear children cast their cares
Low at the feet of the mighty Lord,
Whose grace is pledged in His deathless word.
And grateful spirits haste to lay
Gifts at his altars on Christmas-day;
While high above the seraphs sing
That Love is heaven and Christ is King.

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