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POEMS.
In poverty, sickness, death, sorrow, and care,
The servant doth only the Master's lot share.

To Bethlehem's stable we come not to-day,
With gold and frankincense, our tribute to pay;
Each heart is an altar—the pure sacrifice
Of spirits meek, contrite. He ne'er will despise.

His love—it is changeless, his hand will uphold
His arms bear in safety the lambs to His fold;
The Good Shepherd giveth his life for the sheep;
Then say—shall we doubt Him, or murmuring weep?

No! grateful and glad His sweet will to obey,
In our hearts we'll enthrone Him, and welcome His sway;
And trust in His promise, so graciously given,
The faithful on earth shall be crowned His in heaven.

Then a greeting to all—on this bright Christmas Day—
And O! as we joyfully speed on our way,
May Peace on our souls fall like dew on the flowers,
And Faith's lamp illumine life's dark, wintry hours.