Part 42

Oh! 'twas grand! that hymn of glory Earthly sounds cannot compare; Oh! 'twas grand! it breath'd of heaven, As the angels sung it there. Ravished by the strains ecstatic, Raptured by the vision grand, Gazed the pilgrim on the altar, Gazed upon the angel band.

All was hushed! the floating echoes Of the hymn had died away; Vanished were the clouds of incense, And the censers ceased to sway. Lo! their wings are gently waving, And the angels softly rise, Bending towards the tabernacle, Worship beaming from their eyes.

One last, lowly genuflection! From their brows love burning shone -- Ah! they're going, they've departed, All but one, the brightest one. "Why remains he?" thought the pilgrim, Ah! he rises beauteously -- "Listen!" and the angel murmured Sweetly: "Pilgrim, hail to thee!"

"Come unto the golden altar, I'm an angel -- banish fear -- Come, unite in adoration With me, for our God is here. Come thy Jesus here reposes, Come! He'll bless thy mortal sight -- Come! adore the Infant Saviour With me -- for 'tis Christmas night."

Now approached the pilgrim, trembling, Now beside the angel bent, And the deepest, blissful gladness, With his fervent worship blent. "Pilgrim," said the spirit, softly, "Thou hast seen bright angels here, And hast heard our sacred anthems, Filled with rapture, filled with fear.

"We are twelve -- 'twas we who chanted First the Saviour's lowly birth, We who brought the joyful tidings Of His coming, to the earth; We who sung unto the shepherds, Watching on the mountain height, That the Word was made Incarnate For them on that blessed night.

"And since then we love to linger On that festal night on earth; And we leave our thrones of glory Here to keep the Saviour's birth. Happy mortals! happy mortals! To-night the angels would be men; And they leave their thrones in heaven, For the Crib of Bethlehem."

And the angel led the pilgrim To the tabernacle door; Lo! an Infant there was sleeping, And the angel said: "Adore! He is sleeping, yet he watches, See that beam of love divine; Pilgrim! pay your worship holy To your Infant God and mine."

And the spirit slowly, slowly, Closed the tabernacle door, While the pilgrim lowly, lowly, Bent in rapture to adore. "Pilgrim," spoke the angel sweetly, "I must bid thee my adieu; Love! oh! love the Infant Jesus! --" And he vanished from his view.

* * * * *

All was silent -- silent -- silent -- Faded was the vision bright -- But the pilgrim long remembered In his heart that Christmas night.

A Reverie ["Those hearts of ours -- how strange! how strange!"]

Those hearts of ours -- how strange! how strange! How they yearn to ramble and love to range Down through the vales of the years long gone, Up through the future that fast rolls on.

To-days are dull -- so they wend their ways Back to their beautiful yesterdays; The present is blank -- so they wing their flight To future to-morrows where all seems bright.

Build them a bright and beautiful home, They'll soon grow weary and want to roam; Find them a spot without sorrow or pain, They may stay a day, but they're off again.

Those hearts of ours -- how wild! how wild! They're as hard to tame as an Indian child; They're as restless as waves on the sounding sea, Like the breeze and the bird are they fickle and free.

Those hearts of ours -- how lone! how lone! Ever, forever, they mourn and moan; Let them revel in joy, let them riot in cheer; The revelry o'er, they're all the more drear.

Those hearts of ours -- how warm! how warm! Like the sun's bright rays, like the Summer's charm; How they beam and burn! how they gleam and glow Their flash and flame hide but ashes below.

Those hearts of ours -- how cold! how cold! Like December's snow on the waste or wold; And though our Decembers melt soon into May, Hearts know Decembers that pass not away.

Those hearts of ours -- how deep! how deep! You may sound the sea where the corals sleep, Where never a billow hath rumbled or rolled -- Depths still the deeper our hearts hide and hold.

Where the wild storm's tramp hath ne'er been known The wrecks of the sea lie low and lone; Thus the heart's surface may sparkle and glow, There are wrecks far down -- there are graves below.

Those hearts of ours -- but, after all, How shallow and narrow, how tiny and small; Like scantiest streamlet or Summer's least rill, They're as easy to empty -- as easy to fill.

One hour of storm and how the streams pour! One hour of sun and the streams are no more; One little grief -- how the tears gush and glide! One smile -- flow they ever so fast, they are dried.

Those hearts of ours -- how wise! how wise! They can lift their thoughts till they touch the skies; They can sink their shafts, like a miner bold, Where wisdom's mines hide their pearls and gold.

Aloft they soar with undazzled gaze, Where the halls of the Day-King burn and blaze; Or they fly with a wing that will never fail, O'er the sky's dark sea where the star-ships sail.

Those hearts of ours -- what fools! what fools! How they laugh at wisdom, her cant and rules! How they waste their powers, and, when wasted, grieve For what they have squandered, but cannot retrieve.

Those hearts of ours -- how strong! how strong! Let a thousand sorrows around them throng, They can bear them all, and a thousand more, And they're stronger then than they were before.

Those hearts of ours -- how weak! how weak! But a single word of unkindness speak, Like a poisoned shaft, like a viper's fang, That one slight word leaves a life-long pang.