The Middlebury People's Press

MISCELLANEOUS.

From the New York Tribune.

ODE FOR CHRISTMAS.

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

Night o'er Palestine was waning,
Silence hovered on her hills,
Save (the zephyr's sweet complaining,
Answering to the murmuring rills;
Streaming from the vault of glory,
Starlight quivered in the air,
Falling, as in ages hoary
Manna fell at Israel's prayer.

Mars had left his bloody station,
Janus closed his battle-shrine,
And through all the vast creation
Bloomed the olive and the vine.
In their sheaths the swords were rusting:
Spears and bucklers lined the wall,
And no more, for murder thirsting,
Rang the brazen trumpet's call.

Shepherds on Judea's highlands
Wakeful watched their sleeping charge,
Marking oft the sky's light islands
Sink below its western marge;
With a wondering, silent pleasure,
Gazed they upward from the sod,
When, not bounding from the azure,
Burst the blazing Star of God.

Swiftly sped the daring stranger—
Planets at its glancing grew dim—
Till it rested o'er the manger
Of the Babe of Bethlehem.
Then from God's eternal dwelling
Came the regent Gabriel,
To the fear-struck shepherds telling
Where to seek Immanuel.

In the ether Seraphs hovered—
Seraphs who in Heaven adored—
And, till morn the orient covered,
Sang the advent of the Lord.
Upward, upward, slowly gliding,
Angel voices echoed then,
"Glory be to God abiding,
Peace on earth, and love to men."

Ages o'er the Earth have thundered
Since the Star of Mercy shone,
And in place of few who wondered
Myriads have its blessings known.
Still to him who shields us nightly
With the shadow of His wing,
May our love still burn as brightly
As the Star that hailed Him King.