THE DEACON'S PRAYER. 145
��THE DEACON'S PBAJEB.
��BY WILL E. WALKER.
'Tis Christmas clay. The cloudless morn Recalls to earth the Light once born Beneath that glorious, kindly star Which led the wise men from afar — That Light whose glory ne'er shall cease, The fount of life, and love, and peace.
New England hills are cloaked with snow, And snow-white are the vales below, Save where, 'mid leafless trees, is seen, The foliage of the evergreen. The widespread forests rule the land. Though scarred by man's relentless hand.
Within a quiet valley, where The colonists, with toil and care, Have built their dwellings, without fear The people come from far and near To hear what Elder Gray would say Unto his flock this Christmas day. The new-built church is small and plain ; What matters that, if souls but gain The blessing of the Lord, which waits Within the humblest temple's gates?
Peace dwells within this vale; afar
The devastating tide of war
Rolls on, as 'gainst imperious. might
The men oppressed fight for the right.
Brave men have left this quiet spot,
And in the struggle cast their lot
For indpcndence, leaving all
The joys of home at Freedom's call.
Brave women bade their loved ones go,
And, anxious, wait their weal or woe.
The little church is now well filled ;
The buzz of whispering voices stilled.
The hymn is sung, the prayer is said,
A Scripture lesson has been read
Which warns the people of their sins ;
Then thus the Elder's text begins :
" Peace on the earth, good-will to men ! "
He told the story old, again,
Of Bethlehem's "glory, of the Child,
All holy, harmless, undented ;
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