BY ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Oh, let them reach our shores to-night from far across the sea,
Whose starlit waves bear mystic craft awaiting you and me.
They only come to solace us and smooth our rugged way,
Till breaking of the dawn that crowns our coming Christmas day!
Oh, let them tune sweet melodies in every sacred dome,
Whose echoes thrill the raptured world to gladden hearth and home,
And waken smiles of happiness to brush away the tear
From eyes that glance but sadly at the embers of the year!
Oh, let their soft wings cover—bending reverently low—
Our treasured shrines of sacred dust beneath the fallen snow,
And whisper to us messages but angel-lips can say
Of loved ones on us smiling far beyond the lonely clay!
Oh, let them soothe the couch of pain and all the hungry feed,
And ope for homeless wanderers the welcome doors they need,—
The prison barred and gloomy and haunts of darkest sin—
Aye, bid those tender comforters steal mercifully in!
Oh, let them bear the light of peace ‘mid trenches on the plain
Where soldier boys in distant tents are hiding scars of pain,
And longing, aye, we know, to-night, for home and Christmas cheer,
‘Mid living hearts that wish them back again in comfort here.
Oh, let them stray where childhood glees in simple strains resound
And not a note to sadly mar their carols sweet is found,
To crib of humblest waif as well as cradle of a king
The purest gifts of heaven may those shining fingers bring!
Oh, let them weave hosannas into garland-flowers of song
To crown the earth with music as they softly glide along,
Until their starlit barques again steal out upon the tide
To greet the Babe of Bathlehem at yonder portals wide!
Troy Times. December 24, 1901.
Christopher K. Philippo