CHRISTMAS MORN

Blest Christmas morn, though murky clouds Pursue thy way, Thy light was born where storm enshrouds Nor dawn nor day! Dear Christ, forever here and near, No cradle song, No natal hour and mother's tear, To thee belong. Thou God-idea, Life-encrowned, The Bethlehem babe— Beloved, replete, by flesh embound— Was but thy shade! Thou gentle beam of living Love, And deathless Life! Truth infinite,—so far above All mortal strife, Or cruel creed, or earth-born taint: Fill us today With all thou art—be thou our saint, Our stay, alway. December, 1898.