A CHRISTMAS LYRIC by Jane Gay

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 15, 1859

A CHRISTMAS LYRIC.

By Jane Gay

BY JANE GAY.

THE night stars glittered like a diadem Above the Judean hill-tops, when a band Of way-worn pilgrims stopped at Bethlehem, Obedient to Caesar's stern command! Group after group had gathered all the day; And coldly now the keeper of the inn Turned from these last benighted ones away, For they were lowly in their garb and mien; And with the poor who flocked at Rome's decree, Came Judah's wealth and her nobility.

The house was full—and sad and heavily To a low basement stable then they turned, For far beneath the skies of Galilee The cot in Nazareth where their home fire burned, And chilly was the dew-fall on them there— Sick and exhausted was the tiresome way, The world shuns poverty, and few will share A home and fireside with the poor who stray; So, while the wandering cattle fed around, They made their beds upon the damp, cold ground.

Hark! hark! what sound breaks on the silent air? The mellow tones of myriad harps are ringing Through the clear night-vault! All the starry choir Of heavenly angels join their might in singing The world's triumphant anthem, "Glory, glory!" Dwellers of Bethlehem-Judah, while the skies Are waving their immortal banners o'er ye, Shake off the leaden slumber from your eyes, And bring your offering! Many an angel guest Is hovering round the city of your rest.

Upon the hills that gird the city round, Amid the quiet flock that seldom strayed, Shepherds were seated on the dewy ground, As years before when the boy David played His magic harp amid the sheep-folds there; The shepherd bard, in numbers deep and strong Pouring his inspiration on the air, As the free hunter pours his wild, glad song! And the same star would burst on them this night, That on his inner vision shed such light.

Gaze, shepherds! Lo! on the horizon's rim Is rising now that Orb of Prophecy, The glorious, wondrous star that heralds Him, The world's Redeemer, in his mystery Of earth-hood and divinity combined; Leave there your sheep upon the mountain-side, Meek-hearted ones, and follow till ye find The long expected King. Your angel guide Shall show to you a babe, a new-born stranger, Softly reposing in a Bethlehem manger.

The night stars faded when the next morn stained The eastern hill-tops with its rosy light; But the bright Star of Prophecy remained To chase away the wide world's moral night! And they awoke the busy city throng, But all forgotten, like a night of dreams, The angel hymnings and the choral song; Each his own way, as best to each beseems, The haughty Pharisee and beggar trod, Alike regardless of the Son of God.

Son of the Highest—Being so Divine! From thy straw pillow wake not thou to weep! The cattle on a thousand hills are thine— They will not harm thee in thine earthly sleep! For this poor stable thou hast left a throne Of heavenly beauty, and upon thy brow A vail of shadow and of grief is thrown; An earthly destiny is on thee now— And thou must bear the burden of thy lot Alone! alone! the world will know thee not.

Years sped along! The babe of Bethlehem grew To manly stature, in the humble home Of his kind foster parents. No one knew The mystery of the mission he had come To work in human guise. The carpenter Of Nazareth was his sire—though whispering Of sorest meaning sometimes on his ear Fell from envenomed tongues; as if to wring From patient, honest poverty, its stay, And cloud the dearest sunshine on its way.

But the forked tongue of malice could impart No pang! From His lips, too, strange things would fall, Which but his mother heeded in her heart, She pondered o'er each word, and shrined them all; For, Oh! for Him the bitterest drops of scorn Had been nectarious. Nor heeded she, In the full treasure of her spirit-born, The world's distrust and cold uncharity! She was a human mother, and her eye Wept, as she marveled at his destiny!

Jesus began his mission, and the land Was filled with strange astonishment and awe; Though on no fiery tables did his hand Engrave the new commandments of his law, He dropped them by the wayside, like the seed Of flowers that fall to bless the wanderer's lot; His presence gladdened every heart of need, While deeds of mystery by his words were wrought; The hand of palsy at his touch grew strong— The blind had sight—the dumb the voice of song!

The youth of Nain were sadly bearing one In youth like them, a comrade to his tomb; He was a widowed mother's only son, And life's last love-light had gone out in gloom From that lone mourner's heart! Jesus drew near, His eyelids moistened with compassion's dew, And kindly laid his hand upon the bier; Then that electric touch started anew The silent wheels of life; the youth of Nain To a new earthly life was born again!

Death crossed the ruler's threshold: one sweet bud Had lain like a bright dew-drop on his heart; The bud was bursting into womanhood Before his eyes, when, lo! the spoiler's dart Touched the young blossom, and its life-tide stilled. He called the "Nazarene" to his abode; And when he touched the hand that death had chill'd, Warmly through every vein the life-blood flowed, And while the maiden looked on Christ and smiled, The ruler blessed the Saviour of his child.

He stood beside the grave in Bethany, "Groaning in spirit" for its shadows fall On one he loved, and whose warm sympathy Had often been potential to dispel The sorrows that so closely marked his way; And while the weeping sisters urged him there To leave unbarred the dwelling of decay, A moment lifted he his eyes in prayer, And then the dead a God-like summons gave To his first resurrection from the grave.

Such are the wondrous deeds that cluster round Thy name, Redeemer of our fallen race, Until the mystic earth-tie was unbound That held thee in humanity's embrace! The sun was darkened, and no star arose Above the Judean hill-tops, in the hour That brought thine earthly wanderings to a close; Death claimed thee—but the giant had no power To bind his victim; thou did'st rend his chain And clothe thee in thy Deity again!

The lights gleam brightly through each green-wreathed pane; The Christmas garlands tell of jubilee, And crowds are thronging to the sacred fane Upon this eve of thy nativity! But in my silent chamber, all alone I sit, dear Saviour now, and muse on thee, And from thy Bethlehem birth-place follow on Each step of that lone way to Calvary, Where thou did'st suffer for the unforgiven, And die to make the dying heirs of heaven!