CHRYSTMa.s.sE OF OLDE

G.o.d rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be,-- G.o.d rest you all in fielde or hall, Or on ye stormy sea; For on this morn oure Chryst is born That saveth you and me.

Last night ye shepherds in ye east Saw many a wondrous thing; Ye sky last night flamed pa.s.sing bright Whiles that ye stars did sing, And angels came to bless ye name Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng.

G.o.d rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Faring where'er you may; In n.o.blesse court do thou no sport, In tournament no playe, In paynim lands hold thou thy hands From bloudy works this daye.

But thinking on ye gentil Lord That died upon ye tree, Let troublings cease and deeds of peace Abound in Chrystantie; For on this morn ye Chryst is born That saveth you and me.

AT THE DOOR

I thought myself indeed secure, So fast the door, so firm the lock; But, lo! he toddling comes to lure My parent ear with timorous knock.

My heart were stone could it withstand The sweetness of my baby's plea,-- That timorous, baby knocking and "Please let me in,--it's only me."

I threw aside the unfinished book, Regardless of its tempting charms, And opening wide the door, I took My laughing darling in my arms.

Who knows but in Eternity, I, like a truant child, shall wait The glories of a life to be, Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate?

And will that Heavenly Father heed The truant's supplicating cry, As at the outer door I plead, "'T is I, O Father! only I"?

1886.

HI-SPY

Strange that the city thoroughfare, Noisy and bustling all the day, Should with the night renounce its care, And lend itself to children's play!

Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, And have been so since Abel's birth, And shall be so till dolls and toys Are with the children swept from earth.

The self-same sport that crowns the day Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, Beguiles the little lads at play By night in stately Babylon.

I hear their voices in the street, Yet 't is so different now from then!

Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, And let us two be boys again!

1886.

LITTLE CROODLIN DOO

Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo?

Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea?

Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me-- Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you, Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo!

Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo!

Looked in er cradle, but didn't find you there, Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where; Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you; Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo?

Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo; Now you go rockaby ever so far,-- Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star That's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo!

THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the golden haze off yonder, Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles, And the ocean loves to wander.

Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, Proudly the fig rejoices; Merrily dance the virgin rills, Blending their myriad voices.

Our herds shall fear no evil there, But peacefully feed and rest them; Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear Ever come there to molest them.

Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, Nor feverish drouth distress us, But he that compa.s.seth heat and cold Shall temper them both to bless us.

There no vandal foot has trod, And the pirate hosts that wander Shall never profane the sacred sod Of those beautiful Isles out yonder.

Never a spell shall blight our vines, Nor Sirius blaze above us, But you and I shall drink our wines And sing to the loved that love us.

So come with me where Fortune smiles And the G.o.ds invite devotion,-- Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the haze of that far-off ocean!

DUTCH LULLABY

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of misty light Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"

The old moon asked the three.

"We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we,"

Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sung a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew; The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea.

"Now cast your nets wherever you wish, But never afeard are we!"

So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.