THE CHRIST-CHILD'S PRAISE

THE CHRIST-CHILD'S PRAISE

 

The Earth is dead,

The birds have fled,

Trembling Nature 

Curls in dread

  Come bitter days

And boundless nights

Autumnal dearth and

Hallows' Eve frights

Shrouding clouds

And wind-like blades 

 Refute strong saints

And summon shades. 

 

Until a carol sounds out clear

Brings solace midst the huddled drear

  Rebukes the swift untimely gloam

Kindles light in every home.

 

Did virtue in the Christ-Child's praise

Hasten on the change of days?

For comes unseen, the turn of tide

As if Death could no more abide

Soon swift shoots of snowdrop praise

Paint the earth in violent swathes 

Bold croci with audacious hues

Carpet-bomb in sudden blue

 To primrose, thawing soil succumbs

 Embedded stars, embedded suns

 Despatching bleak and hopeless days

The tulips rise to join the fray 

Preaching Light with stoic purpose

Quietly put the cold on notice

 A host of allies at our feet 

Proclaim now Winter's swift retreat

 Day-on-day the siege is breaking

All the verdant powers awaking

Till Eastertide draws back the Sun

Proclaims that Life again has won.





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