Saturday, December 6, 2014

"A Christmas Poem" by Dr. B. F. Leggett (1890)

A Christmas Poem


Many and many a year ago,

        In the land beyond the sea,

The shepherds hailed the wondrous star

        That arose for you and me.

Endless the light of its kindled flame

        As it shone in beauty there.

And fair was the light that drifted down

        To earth from the startled air.

Rising, they wondered, and lo! a song

        Came down from the skies afar,

And sages came from the morning land,

        Led on by the gleaming star.

Ringing to-day is the chorus still—

        The beautiful song we know,

The "Peace on earth and good will to men,"

        That came from the long ago.

Yearning and weary, they waited long

        Till banners of strife were furled—

Till the darkness waned and morning came

        With sunrise-hope for the world.

Cheering the earth with a strain sublime,

        On hovering wings they came,

And the waiting world was glad to hear

        The sound of the wondrous name!

Heavy and sad had the nations bowed

        While waiting the years to bring

The Hope of the world foretold so long—

        Messiah, the royal King!

Rising, they went where the bright star led,

        With a glory as of morn,

Till it stood above the far white walls

        Where the infant Christ was born.

Into the streets of the dreaming town

        The kings and the sages filed,

With treasures of frankincense and gold

        For the manger-cradled child.

Slowly they tuned from the lowly stall

        Where the babe in beauty lay,

But the angel strain rings on and on

        In the Christmas song to-day,

Telling of peace by the couch of pain—

        Or of a love that lingers here,

Eternal hope of a breaking dawn

        That filleth the world with cheer.

Mellow and sweet as the angels' song

        On the star-lit hills of old.

The hope that sings in the loyal heart

        By faith in the long foretold.

Alas for us, if our love shall fail,

        Or the wondrous star grow dim,

If one can grow dull and hear no more

        The strains of the angels' hymn!

Sweetly, O song of the eastern hills,

        Ring on through the world for aye,

Till peace on earth and good will shall reign

        For an endless Christmas day!

        WARD, Penn.

Troy Weekly Times. December 25, 1890: 6 col 1.

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