The Christ-Child

Across the waste, across the snow,             O the pity!    O the pity!         Past sentinel of friend and foe             O the pity!    O the pity!         Comes the Christ-Child clad in white         Through the storm-clouds of the night.         Bearing in His lily hands         Gift of peace to warring lands,             O the pity!    O the pity!         "Adeste fideles!" sing the choirs             O the pity!    O the pity!         Lurid flame the battle fires             O the pity!    O the pity!         Shepherds hear the heavenly song,         Mid the strife and piteous wrong;         Peace on earth but not of men,         Peace that knows not crime nor sin.             O the pity!    O the pity!         Lay your sceptres at His feet,             O the pity!    O the pity!         Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, greet,             O the pity!    O the pity!         Legions stretched in battle line,         Saw the star and knew the sign,         Yet forgot that Christ was born         Prince of Peace, on Christmas morn,             O the pity!    O the pity!         Christmas, 1914.         For Mrs. George McIntyre.