Volume 2 — THE HOLY NIGHT.

It was so still a night— So calm and still! And watching stars, far in the silent sky, Shone tenderly Upon the quiet world asleep and chill, And lying breathless in the frozen light. O earth, unconscious earth! Serene that hour As the untroubled heart of the sweet maid Who now hath laid Her little Child to rest—her Child whose power Hath bid e'en soulless things proclaim His birth. Yet silent lies He now, And asketh naught, This sweetest One, but on His mother's breast He findeth rest. And of her tender smiling (sorrow-bought) The still light falleth on His sleeping brow. "My Own!" she whispers low, And then her ear Hath caught the angel anthem from above, Where the Blest Dove Forever broodeth, and she waits to hear The song of peace re-echoed o'er the snow. And yet the Babe doth sleep; And does He dream How, in the golden Christmases to come, Through each fair house That self-same song of peace, while tapers gleam, Shall sound, as now it soundeth, strong and deep. For happy childhood bears Forevermore His seal upon its brow, and childhood's voice Shall e'er rejoice At this glad time, when the Redeemer wore Its poverty, its feebleness, and tears. And every human heart Shall tender grow And very humble, if a child but speak, That seemeth weak, But still is strong in Him who would forego Through strength of love all things that joy impart. We praise Thee, O Thou King Thou Holy One! We praise Thee for our childhood, and we praise Through all our days This festival of peace and good-will shown To man, while evermore the angels sing. Helen Grace Smith.