Christmas, 1873

Christmas-Days are still in store:⁠—
  Will they change⁠—steal faded hither?
Or come fresh as heretofore,
  Summering all our winter weather?

Surely they will keep their bloom
  All the countless pacing ages:
In the country whence they come
  Children only are the sages!

Hither, every hour and year,
  Children come to cure our oldness⁠—
Oft, alas, to gather sear
  Unbelief, and earthy boldness!

Men they grow and women cold,
  Selfish, passionate, and plaining!
Ever faster they grow old:⁠—
  On the world, ah, eld is gaining!

Child, whose childhood ne’er departs!
  Jesus, with the perfect father!
Drive the age from parents’ hearts;
  To thy heart the children gather.

Send thy birth into our souls,
  With its grand and tender story.
Hark! the gracious thunder rolls!⁠—
  News to men! to God old glory!