Yule Tide.
Yes, it's an olden, old story,
Yet so new, is the tale that is told,
That catching the rays of His glory,
And weaving the thread in spun gold;
We'll tell in the words He has given us,
The birth of His son, Christ our Lord;
How he came in his beauty to brave thus,
The scorn of the world, and its sword.
Yet so new, is the tale that is told,
That catching the rays of His glory,
And weaving the thread in spun gold;
We'll tell in the words He has given us,
The birth of His son, Christ our Lord;
How he came in his beauty to brave thus,
The scorn of the world, and its sword.
How fair, as he lay in the manger,
Fell the promise of peace at his birth;
How the hand-clasp of brother and stranger
Should bring great good will to the earth;
As Mary, his mother, bent o'er him
With eyes beaming forth such a love,
Out from the shadows of twilight dim,
There drifted down songs from above.
Fell the promise of peace at his birth;
How the hand-clasp of brother and stranger
Should bring great good will to the earth;
As Mary, his mother, bent o'er him
With eyes beaming forth such a love,
Out from the shadows of twilight dim,
There drifted down songs from above.
So freighted with pearls of rejoicing,
So radiant with heaven's own smile,
That angels forever are voicing,
This gift of our Lord, all the while.
They tell (and the words fall so sweetly,
Like balm, on the deep-troubled heart),
That the Father doth all things completely,
And in all, we have each one a part.
So radiant with heaven's own smile,
That angels forever are voicing,
This gift of our Lord, all the while.
They tell (and the words fall so sweetly,
Like balm, on the deep-troubled heart),
That the Father doth all things completely,
And in all, we have each one a part.
—90—
