4648427Poems — Christmas—1863Frances M. Sharpless
CHRISTMAS—1863
Christmas has come! bring now the cedar wreaths
And with them gaudy ribbons gaily twine,
To deck the household room, until it show
   Like a domestic shrine,
Where holy love shall make the rites his own.
With chosen gifts for each beloved one.

Ages ago, came One, the gift of God,
When all the earth was going mad with crime;
A sun-ray dropped in darkness, which hath glowed
   Brighter through lapse of time;
So we give gifts, and bid all quarrels cease
In memory of the blessed Prince of Peace.

The Prince of Peace! can he have aught to do
With us, dipped deeply in fraternal blood?
We who deny Him in our lives far more
   Than ever Jews on rood.
For they refined not on their wickedness
By asking Him, e'en while they killed, to bless.

But we, we shield ourselves behind His name
To do deeds hateful unto Him above,
Linking all hard and selfish thoughts with One
   Who only teaches love;
Denying all the truths, He died to give
With the loud thunder of the lives we live.

Seeking Him only when our sins grow thick,
And we are somewhat faint with fight and loss,
Then, blindly staggering with life's weight, we go
   To lean upon His Cross.
For Thou insulted but forgiving God
We would avert the justice of Thy rod.

How can we bring our children unto Thee
When their clear eyes our own short-comings find?
And see no signs of Thee thro' all this land,
   "Where madmen lead the blind;"
Where nature is the only minister
True to the teachings Thou hast left with her!

Go—take away those merry Christmas wreaths!
They are for faithful hearts and peaceful homes;
But veil our walls with cypress, while we sit
   Weeping amid its glooms.
Unhappy land! No Christmas joy for thee—
Sackcloth and ashes should thy portion be.

Blacker than night, unlit by moon or stars;
Sadder than human tongue can ever tell;
More hopeless than the doom that bound for aye
   Satan to Hell;
Must be the Fate that Time's unswerving hand
Deals from his chalice to a Godless land.