Ring out, ye crystal spheres,
Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time,

And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow;

And with your ninefold harmony,

Make up full consort to angelic symphony.

MILTON.

PART III.

For Christmas Tide.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

IN the rush of the merry morning,
When the red burns through the gray,
And the wintry world lies waiting
For the glory of the day;

Then we hear a fitful rushing
Just without upon the stair,
See two white phantoms coming,
Catch the gleam of sunny hair.

Are they Christmas fairies stealing
Rows of little socks to fill?
Are they angels floating hither

With their message of good-will ?
What sweet spell are these elves weaving,
As like larks they chirp and sing?
Are these palms of peace from heaven
That these lovely spirits bring?

Rosy feet upon the threshold,
Eager faces peeping through,
With the first red ray of sunshine,
Chanting cherubs come in view;
Mistletoe and gleaming holly,
Symbols of a blessed day,
In their chubby hands they carry,
Streaming all along the way.

Well we know them, never weary
Of this innocent surprise;
Waiting, watching, listening always
With full hearts and tender eyes,
While our little household angels,
White and golden in the sun,
Greet us with the sweet old welcome,
"Merry Christmas, every one! "

FAIRY FACES.

Out of the mists of childhood, Steeped in a golden glory, Come dreamy forms and faces, Snatches of song and story; Whispers of sweet, still faces; Rays of ethereal glimmer, That gleam like sunny heavens, Ne'er to grow colder or dimmer: Now far in the distance, now shining near, Lighting the snows of the shivering year.

Faces there are that tremble,
Bleared with a silent weeping,
Weird in a shadowy sorrow,
As if endless vigil keeping.
Faces of dazzling brightness,
With childlike radiance lighted,
Flashing with many a beauty,

Nor care nor time had blighted.
But o'er them all there's a glamour thrown,
Bright with the dreamy distance alone.

Aglow in the Christmas halo,
Shining with heavenly lustre,

These are the fairy faces

That round the hearthstone cluster.

These the deep, tender records,

Sacred in all their meetness,

That, wakening purest fancies,
Soften us with their sweetness;

As, gathered where flickering fagots burn,
We welcome the holy season's return.

A CHRISTMAS SONG.

THE oak is a strong and stalwart tree,
And it lifts its branches up,
And catches the dew right gallantly
In many a dainty cup;

And the world is brighter and better made
Because of the woodman's stroke,

Descending in sun, or falling in shade,
On the sturdy form of the oak.

But stronger, ween, in apparel green,
And trappings so fair to see,

With its precious freight for small and great,
Is the beautiful Christmas Tree.

The elm is a kind and goodly tree,

With its branches bending low;
The heart is glad when its form we see,
And we list to the river's flow.

Ay, the heart is glad and the pulses bound,
And joy illumines the face,
Whenever a goodly elm is found,
Because of its beauty and grace.

But kinder, I ween, more goodly in mien,
With branches more drooping and free,
The tint of whose leaves fidelity weaves,
Is the beautiful Christmas Tree.

The maple is supple and lithe and strong,
And claimeth our love anew,

When the days are listless and quiet and long,
And the world is fair to view;

And later, as beauties and graces unfold, —
A monarch right regally drest,

With streamers aflame, and pennons of gold,
It seemeth of all the best.

More lissome, I ween, the brightness and sheen,
And the coloring sunny and free,

And the banners soft, that are held aloft

By the beautiful Christmas Tree.

St. Nicholas.

MRS. HATTIE S. RUSSELL

A CHRISTMAS CAMP ON THE SAN GABR'EL.

LAMAR and his Rangers camped at dawn on the banks of the San Gabr❜el,

Under the mossy live-oaks, in the heart of a lonely dell;

With the cloudless Texas sky above, and the musquite grass

below,

And all the prairie lying still, in a misty, silvery glow.

The sound of the horses cropping grass, the fall of a nut, full ripe,

The stir of a weary soldier, or the tap of a smoked-out pipe,
Fell only as sounds in a dream may fall upon a drowsy ear,
Till the Captain said, ""T is Christmas Day! so, boys, we 'll
spend it here;

"For the sake of our homes and our childhood, we'll give the day its dues."

Then some leaped up to prepare the feast, and some sat still

to muse,

And some pulled scarlet yupon-berries and wax-white mistle

toe,

To garland the stand-up rifles, -for Christmas has no foe.

And every heart had a pleasant thought, or a tender memory, Of unforgotten Christmas Tides that nevermore might be; They felt the thrill of a mother's kiss, they heard the happy psalm,

And the men grew still, and all the camp was full of a gracious calm.

"Halt!” cried the sentinel; and lo! from out of the brushwood near

There came, with weary, fainting step, a man in mortal fear,— A brutal man, with a tiger's heart, and yet he made this plea: "I am dying of hunger and thirst, so do what you will with me."

They knew him well: who did not know the cruel San Sabatan,
The robber of the Rio Grande, who spared not any man?
In low, fierce tones they spoke his name, and looked at a coil
of rope;

And the man crouched down in abject fear — how could he dare to hope?

The Captain had just been thinking of the book his mother read, Of a Saviour born on Christmas Day, who bowed on the cross

his head;

Blending the thought of his mother's tears with the holy mother's grief,

And when he saw San Sabatan, he thought of the dying thief.

He spoke to the men in whispers, and they heeded the words

he said,

And brought to the perishing robber, water and meat and bread.

He ate and drank like a famished wolf, and then lay down to rest, And the camp, perchance, had a stiller feast for its strange Christmas guest.

But, or ever the morning dawned again, the Captain touched his hand:

"Here is a horse, and some meat and bread; fly to the Rio Grande !

Fly for your life! We follow hard; touch nothing on your

way

Your life was only spared because 't was Jesus Christ's birth

day."

He watched him ride as the falcon flies, then turned to the breaking day;

The men awoke, the Christmas berries were quietly cast away; And, full of thought, they saddled again, and rode off into the

west

May God be merciful to them, as they were merciful to their

guest!

AMELIA BARR