How joyously and happily they sing,
"The Christ is born-Hail, hail your king!"
Clear ring the bells of fearless Truth;
As if their tongues would call, forsooth,
"I am the Way, the Truth, the Life!'
What! think ye, in your worldly strife,
That policy will make a way
Where principle's effulgent ray
Should shed abroad its flashing light
Nor cease to guide the pilgrim right?”
The brazen bells, deep-toned and loud,
Through foggy mist, and stormy cloud,
Call for the steward to report;
To stand before his Judge in court;
To there hand in the Lord's amount,
And certify to his account;
But should he trembling, fainting fail,
Blind Justice drops him from her scale.
Thank God! the bells of Mercy ring:
"O sinner! hold! to thee we bring
Salvation free-for Christ is born;
This is his glorious birthday morn!
He's knocking at your door to-day,
And will ye sullen turn away?"
Ring out! ye bells of Mercy ring!
Immanuel, Saviour, Lord and King!
The bells of Faith strike clear and strong;
There's not a note among them wrong!
"The evidence of things unseen
Has left a path forever green;
A road o'er which our fathers trod,
And proved, by works, their faith in God.
Now all with thankful hearts may sing,
"Simply to Thy cross I cling."
The bells of Hope, with anchor crest,
Are by each doubting sinner blest ;
Their cheering tones to many ears
Allay the pain of puzzling fears;
But as each bell in turn is rung
It points above to where are hung
The bells of Faith:-"O sinner! there
The publican smote his breast in prayer!"
The silver bells of Charity
O bells of greatest rarity!
Of sisters three thou art the chief;
To Pain and Sorrow, Death and Grief,
A welcome friend: thy voice is sweet,
And cheers our homeward erring feet;
While angels cry, with one accord,
"Well done! Thou faithful of the Lord!"
"Go in! Go in! Go in!
Go search thy heart to-day, And in thy closet dim
Pray to the babe that lay
In the manger, by the beast,
In the star-lit, golden East.
Go out! Go out! Go out!
Go find the poor to-day;
With light hearts search about—
Tell them of the babe that lay
In the manger, by the beast,
In the star-lit, golden East.
Go up! Go up! Go up!
Go, deck the Christmas tree!
Think how he drained the cup,
Think how he died for thee,
Think of the babe that lay
In the manger, by the beast,
In the star-lit, golden East.
Go down! Go down! Go down!
Search for the vile to-day;
Seek the prisoners of the town,
Tell them of the babe that lay
In the manger, by the beast,
In the star-lit, golden East."
Where'er you are, whate'er you do,
The Christmas Chimes ring out for YOU.
ENGAGED.-J. L. PENNYPACKER.
I've sat at her feet by the hour
In the properly worshipful way;
I've carried her many a flower;
I've read to her many a lay;
Social battles with friend and with lover
For her sake I often have waged;
And now, from her lips, I discover
That she-oh! that she is engaged.
One season we led in the german,
And one we were partners at whist,
On Sundays we heard the same sermon,
The opera never once missed;
We were generally winners at tennis,
Our skill at the target we gauged,
But a difference between now and then is,
For now she-for now she's engaged.
I have carried a parasol o'er her,
When we strolled in the deep-shaded grove;
Whole minutes I've dallied before her,
Assisting to button her glove;
As she sprang to the saddle my fingers
Her wee foot a moment have caged;
And the thrill in my pulses still lingers
Though now she-though now she's engaged.
Does she ever live over, I wonder,
The night that we sat in the cove,
One shawl wrapped about us, while thunder
And windstorms and hail raged above?
How, trembling, she hid her white face on
My shoulder, and how I assuaged
Her fears by the story of Jason-
Does she think of all that when engaged?
On my walls hang her many mementos;
That cathedral she sketched me in Rome;.
It was after my camp-life she sent those
Silk slippers to welcome me home;
I've the letters she wrote me at college
In a book all assorted and paged-
How delightful to read with the knowledge
That now she-yes-now she's engaged!
I am going to call there to-morrow;
In her joy she will greet her old friend
Without even a shadow of sorrow
That the friendship has come to an end;
And close in my arms I will fold her,
No matter for papa enraged,
Shall his wrath from me longer withhold her
When to me-'tis to me she's engaged?
BAY BILLY.-FRANK H. GASSAWAY.
"Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg—
Perhaps the day you reck,
Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine,
Kept Early's men in check;
Just where Wade Hampton boomed away
The fight went neck and neck.
All day we held the weaker wing,
And held it with a will;
Five several stubborn times we charged
The battery on the hill,
And five times beaten back, re-formed,
And kept our columns still.
At last from out the centre fight
Spurred up a General's aid.
"That battery must silenced be!"
He cried, as past he sped.
Our Colonel simply touched his cap,
And then, with measured tread,
To lead the crouching line once more
The grand old fellow came.
No wounded man but raised his head,
And strove to gasp his name,
And those who could not speak nor stir,
"God blessed him "just the same.
For he was all the world to us,
That hero gray and grim;
Right well he knew that fearful slope
We'd climb with none but him,
Though while his white head led the way
We'd charge hell's portals in.
This time we were not half-way up,
When, midst the storm of shell,
Our leader, with his sword upraised,
Beneath our bayonets fell.
And, as we bore him back, the foe
Set up a joyous yell.
Our hearts went with him. Back we swept,
And when the bugle said
"Up, charge, again !" no man was there
But hung his dogged head.
"We've no one left to lead us now,"
The sullen soldiers said.
Just then, before the laggard line,
The Colonel's horse we spied-
Bay Billy, with his trappings on,
His nostrils swelling wide,
As though still on his gallant back
The master sat astride.
Right royally he took the place
That was of old his wont,
And with a neigh, that seemed to say
Above the battle's brunt,
"How can the Twenty-second charge
If I am not in front?"
Like statues we stood rooted there,
And gazed a little space;
Above that floating mane we missed
The dear familiar face;
But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire,
And it gave us heart of grace.
No bugle call could rouse us all
As that brave sight had done;
Down all the battered line we felt
A lightning impulse run;
Up, up the hill we followed Bill,
And captured every gun!
And when upon the conquered height
Died out the battle's hum,
Vainly 'mid living and the dead
We sought our leader dumb;
It seemed as if a spectre steed
To win that day had come.
|