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NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL.

BEHOLD a silly, tender Babe,

In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies;

Alas! a piteous sight.
The inns are full; no man will yield

This little Pilgrim bed;
But forced he is with silly beasts

In crib to shroud his head.

Despise him not for lying there;

First what he is inquire:
An Orient pearl is often found

In depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,

Nor beasts that by him feed;
Weigh not his mother's

Nor Joseph's simple weed.

poor attire,

This stable is a Prince's court,

The crib his chair of state;
The beasts are parcel of his pomp,

The wooden dish his plate.

The persons in that poor

attire His loyal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from heaven:

This pomp is praised there.

With joy approach, 0 Christian wight!

Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp,

Which he from heaven doth bring.

CHRISTMAS SONG.

EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS.

Calm on the listening ear of night

Come heaven's melodious strains,
Where wild Judea stretches far
Her silver-

mantled plains ; Celestial choirs from courts above

Shed sacred glories there; And angels with their sparkling lyres

Make music on the air.

The answering hills of Palestine

Send back the glad reply, And greet from all their holy heights

The day-spring from on high :
O'er the blue depths of Galilee

There comes a holier calm,
And Sharon waves, in solemn praise,

Her silent groves of palm.
Glory to God! The lofty strain

The realm of ether fills :
How sweeps the song of solemn joy

O’er Judah's sacred hills !

“ Glory to God!” The sounding skies

Loud with their anthems ring; “Peace on the earth ; good-will to men,

From heaven's eternal King !' Light on thy hills, Jerusalem!

The Saviour now is born : More bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains

Breaks the first Christmas morn; And brighter on Moriah's brow,

Crowned with her temple-spires, Which first proclaim the new-born light,

Clothed with its Orient fires.

This day shall Christian lips be mute,

And Christian hearts be cold ?
Oh, catch the anthem that from heaven

O'er Judah's mountains rolled!
When nightly burst from seraph-harps

The high and solemn lay, “Glory to God! on earth be peace;

Salvation comes to-day!”

THE MISTLETOE BOUGH.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday.

The baron beheld, with a father's pride,
His beautiful child, young Lovel's bride;
While she, with her bright eyes, seemed to be
The star of that goodly company.

Oh! the mistletoe bough!

“I'm weary of dancing now," she cried,
“Here, tarry a moment, I'll hide — I'll hide !
And, Lovel, be sure thou’rt the first to trace
The clue to my secret lurking-place.”
Away she ran, and her friends began
Each tower to search and each nook to scan;
And young Lovel cried, “ Oh! where dost thou hide ?
I'm lonely without thee, my own dear bride.”

Oh! the mistletoe bough!

They sought her that night, and they sought her next

day, And they sought her, in vain, till a week passed away ; In the highest — the lowest the loneliest spot, Young Lovel sought wildly, but found her not. And the years flew by, and their grief at last Was told as a sorrowful tale long past; And when Lovel appeared the children cried, “See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride !”

Oh! the mistletoe bough!

At length an old chest, that had long lain hid,
Was found in the castle — they raised the lid —
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there,
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair.

Oh! sad was her fate — in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in that old oak chest:
It closed with a spring — and her bridal bloom
Was withered to dust in that old oak tomb !

Oh! the mistletoe bough!

CHRISTMAS AT FEZZIWIG'S WAREHOUSE.

CHARLES DICKENS. ARRANGED.

6 Clear away,

“Yo no ! my boys,” said Fezziwig. 66 No more work to-night; Christmas Eve, Dick! Christmas, Ebenezer ! Let's have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands, “ before a man can say Jack Robinson.

“ Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk with wonderful agility. my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Cheer up, Ebenezer !”

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire ; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk and made an orchestra of it and tuned

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