ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 4, Issue 194, 17 December 1941, Page 6

ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY

| -»• This is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son ol' Heaven's Eternai King Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing That He our deadly forfeit should release. And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist Whispering new joys to the mild ocean — Who now- hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calf sit brooding on the charmed wave. The shepherds on the lawn Or ere the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their lovers, or else their sheep Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet ! Their hearts and ears did greet As never was my mortal linger strook — Divinely-warbed voice Answering the stringed noise, As all tbeir souls in blessed rapture took; The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Ring out, yet crystal spheres! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses s*>; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the base of heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make ujp full consort to the angelic symphony.

But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Haven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. CHRISTMAS EVE "When tea at last is finished, And you get down from your chair, Don't you feel a bit excited, Feel there's some-thing in the air. Just a few hours off from Christmas, And don't those few hours drag. When you've bought your lovely presents And they're hidden in a bag? When mother's tucked you into lied, And the breeze sings on the roofs, Perhaps you'll hear a tinkly bell, Or the click of reindeer hoof. Grown-ups may think, it silly And just for tiny tots. But you know it's Father Christmas Counting up the chimney pots. LESS COMPETITION "Ay," exclaimed Sandy McTavish to his English friend. "Scotland's the finest place on earth." "Then what", made you leave it, Since you like it so much?" said the friend. Sandy smiled. "Ah, weel," he chuckled, "it was like this. In Scotland everybody was its clever as masel' and I couldna tnak' muckle progress. But here — here I'm getting on verra weel." A NEW ONE A little boy of six came home from school and announced that his class had learned a new song. "What was it?" asked his mother. "It was a carol," he said, "called 'Wild Shepherds Washed Their Frocks by Night.'" "Heat expands many things," said the science master. '"Can anyone give me an example?" "Yes, sir," replied the brightest boy in the class. "Summer holidays last seven weeks and winter holidays last only three."