CHRISTMAS EVE.
117
Weep we less wildly!
Sleeping is well;
The Lord hath laid on him
A wonderful spell.
Flower-band childly,
Call away fear!
Our hand mildly
Tender you cheer!
How I muse of him
Gambolling so,
With all these who love him
A brief while ago,
Heaven's joy above him,
Our joy below!
Ah! may you be merry
While one is lost,
In his dear bosom the
Terrible frost?
Smile we who bury
All we love most?
Or is he hiding
Here in the hall.
And will he come gliding
Swift when we call?
