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THE DA WN Of CHRISTMAS DAY.
The winds are dead, and ah I how still I
The stan ate Urge; a silver blade
Yon homeward sailing moon has made
Upon the sombre, wooded hill.
The towering fir trees breathe prayer,
And lo! each white (tar hides away
Behind a (alien robe of gray,
And bird notes thrill the morning air.
An overflowing cup of wine
Is slowly lifting In the east,
Awake, oh, man I to beauty's feast,
The glory ol the sky is thine.
And now from peaks that flash and gleam
The gorgeous light of dawn Is hurled
Across the rugged western world,
And drenches hill and Tale and stream.
Oh, hallowed day when Christ was born,
Bring sweetest peace to every one;
From land of snow to land of sun
Let love prevail on Christmas morn.
Hihiiixt Bashford.
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