There's a star in the sky!

There's a mother's deep prayer And a baby's low cry!

And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing, For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.

There's a tumult of joy O'er the wonderful birth, For the virgin's sweet boy Is the Lord of the earth, Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing, For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king!

In the light of that star Lie the ages impearled; And that song from afar Has swept over the world.

Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing In the homes of the nations that Jesus is king.

We rejoice in the light, And we echo the song That comes down through the night From the heavenly throng.

Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring, And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King!

JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.

[Footnote 24: _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons._]

_The Angels_

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.

We bring the best of news; be not dismayed: A Saviour there is born more old than years, Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid, A weakling did him bear, who all upbears; There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid, To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres: Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.

This is that night--no, day, grown great with bliss, In which the power of Satan broken is: In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!

Thus singing, through the air the angels swam, And cope of stars re-echoed the same.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

"_While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night"_

Like small curled feathers, white and soft, The little clouds went by, Across the moon, and past the stars, And down the western sky: In upland pastures, where the gra.s.s With frosted dew was white, Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay, That first, best Christmas night.

The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint, With twist of thin, blue smoke, Only their fire's crackling flames The tender silence broke-- Save when a young lamb raised his head, Or, when the night wind blew, A nesting bird would softly stir, Where dusky olives grew--

With finger on her solemn lip, Night hushed the shadowy earth, And only stars and angels saw The little Saviour's birth; Then came such flash of silver light Across the bending skies, The wondering shepherds woke, and hid Their frightened, dazzled eyes!

And all their gentle sleepy flock Looked up, then slept again, Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars Brought endless Peace to men-- Nor even heard the gracious words That down the ages ring-- "The Christ is born! the Lord has come, Good-will on earth to bring!"

Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields, Dumb with the world's great joy, The shepherds sought the white-walled town, Where lay the baby boy-- And oh, the gladness of the world, The glory of the skies, Because the longed-for Christ looked up In Mary's happy eyes!

MARGARET DELAND.

_The Star Song_

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue, Where is the Babe but lately sprung?

Lies he the lily-banks among?

Or say, if this new Birth of ours Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers, Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek Him in the morning's blushing cheek, Or search the beds of spices through, To find him out?

_Star._--No, this ye need not do; But only come and see Him rest, A princely babe, in's mother's breast.

ROBERT HERRICK.

_Hymn for Christmas_

Oh! lovely voices of the sky Which hymned the Saviour's birth, Are ye not singing still on high, Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?

To us yet speak the strains Wherewith, in time gone by, Ye blessed the Syrian swains, Oh! voices of the sky!

Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams That hour Heaven's glory shed, Around the palms, and o'er the streams, And on the shepherd's head.

Be near, through life and death, As in that holiest night Of hope, and joy, and faith-- Oh! clear and shining light!

FELICIA HEMANS.

_New Prince, New Pomp_

Behold a simple, tender Babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies; Alas! a piteous sight.

The inns are full; no man will yield This little Pilgrim bed; But forced he is with silly beasts In crib to shroud his head.

Despise him not for lying there; First what he is inquire: An Orient pearl is often found In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish, Nor beasts that by him feed; Weigh not his mother's poor attire, Nor Joseph's simple weed.

This stable is a Prince's court, The crib his chair of state; The beasts are parcel of his pomp, The wooden dish his plate.

The persons in that poor attire His royal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from heaven: This pomp is praised there.

With joy approach, O Christian wight!

Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp, Which he from heaven doth bring.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL.

_The Three Kings_

Three Kings came riding from far away, Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar; Three Wise Men out of the East were they, And they travelled by night and they slept by day, For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear, That all the other stars of the sky Became a white mist in the atmosphere; And by this they knew that the coming was near Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows, Three caskets of gold with golden keys; Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows, Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West, Through the dusk of night over hills and dells, And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast, And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest, With the people they met at the wayside wells.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar, "Good people, I pray you, tell us the news; For we in the East have seen his star, And have ridden fast, and have ridden far, To find and worship the King of the Jews."