Christmas, 1873

Christmas-Days are still in store:--             Will they change--steal faded hither?         Or come fresh as heretofore,             Summering all our winter weather?         Surely they will keep their bloom             All the countless pacing ages:         In the country whence they come             Children only are the sages!         Hither, every hour and year,             Children come to cure our oldness--         Oft, alas, to gather sear             Unbelief, and earthy boldness!         Men they grow and women cold,             Selfish, passionate, and plaining!         Ever faster they grow old:--             On the world, ah, eld is gaining!         Child, whose childhood ne'er departs!             Jesus, with the perfect father!         Drive the age from parents' hearts;             To thy heart the children gather.         Send thy birth into our souls,             With its grand and tender story.         Hark! the gracious thunder rolls!--             News to men! to God old glory!