December
It chanced upon the merry, merry Christmas eve,
I went sighing past the Church across the moorland dreary:
“Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave,
And the bells but mock the wailing sound, they sing so cheery.
How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again?
Still in cellar and in garret, and on moorland dreary,
The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain:
Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery.”
Then arose a joyous clamour from the wild-fowl on the mere,
Beneath the stars across the snow, like clear bells ringing,
And a voice within cried, “Listen! Christmas carols even here!
Though thou be dumb, yet o’er their work the stars and snows are singing.
Blind! I live, I love, I reign, and all the nations through
With the thunder of my judgments even now are ringing;
Do thou fulfil thy work but as yon wild-fowl do,
Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear through it the angels’ singing.”
A Christmas Carol.