NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP. ROBERT SOUTHWELL. BEHOLD a silly, tender Babe, The inns are full; no man will yield But forced he is with silly beasts Despise him not for lying there; Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish, This stable is a Prince's court, 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, O 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 The answering hills of Palestine 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, "Glory to God!” The lofty strain The realm of ether fills: How sweeps the song of solemn joy "Glory to God!" The sounding skies Light on thy hills, Jerusalem! The Saviour now is born : More bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains Crowned with her temple-spires, Which first proclaim the new-born light, This day shall Christian lips be mute, Oh, catch the anthem that from heaven 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, Oh! the mistletoe bough! "I'm weary of dancing now," she cried, 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; Young Lovel sought wildly, but found her not. At length an old chest, that had long lain hid, 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 CHRISTMAS AT FEZZIWIG'S WAREHOUSE. CHARLES DICKENS. ARRANGED. "YO HO! my boys," said Fezziwig. "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. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Cheer up, Ebenezer!" Cheer 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 |