The oxen in their stalls are still,
Whilst angels gather round,
As Mary with her new-born Child
Is seated on the ground.
And a light of heavenly brightness
Is shining in her eyes,
As Jesus smiles upon her
From her arms, in which He lies.
O blessed mother, in thy love
All peerless and all fair!
The light is shining round thee,
In that stable cold and bare:
But though thou art the Queen of Heaven,
The manger is the throne
Of Him, who is the mighty Lord,
And yet thy Babe, thine own.
O mother, what a joy thou art !
For thou art full of grace,
As thou claspest Jesus in thine arms
And smilest in His face;
As thou smilest in His. little face,
And as He smiles in thine,
The splendours of the heavenly court
Around thee flash and shine;
And angel-bands before thee kneel,
Thee for their empress own,
Because Eternal God hath made
Thy sinless arms His throne.
The Christmas light is shining,
Though eighteen centuries
Have fled, since that first joyful night
That saw thee on thy knees
Beside the little manger-bed,
Wherein thy Jesus lay,
As the cattle gather'd round Him,
And the oxen eating hay.
I cannot tell thee half the joy
With which our eyes grow dim,
When we kneel beside the manger,
And thou bringest us to Him,
Who is thy loving spouse, and ours,
Our life, our changeless joy,
Thine own dear sweetest Jesus,
Thy wondrous, beauteous boy.
The Christmas light is shining,
As bright as ever now,
And the cradle is as glorious,
And the light on Mary's brow.
And lo! before the awful throne
The prostrate crowds adore,
As they kneel in joyful gratitude
Upon the Temple's floor:
They kneel with joy at Mary's throne,
To worship Jesus there,
And swiftly rises up to Him
The voice of heart-felt prayer.
And voice on voice is thrilling,
Till the mighty chaunt ascends,
And with the strains from angels' harps
In sweetest concert blends.
And hearts o'erflow'd with happiness
Are faint with loving joy,
Which earth can never give to them,
And time cannot destroy.
O mother, keep us at thy side,
Lest we should fall away,
And reach not thee and Jesus,
In the cloudless, sunlit day.
Be with us in this stormy sea,
And bring us to the shore,
Where Jesus in His loveliness
Is seen for evermore.
Where life has no more sorrow,
And where death can never come,
The resting-place for wearied hearts,
The pilgrim's happy home;
Where brides of Christ for ever dwell
In blessed Christmas light,
And the bridal never ceases,
And the day is ever bright.
TO THE MEMORY OF BISHOP MAGINN.
A STAR hath vanish'd from our nether sphere,
A glory from our darksome earth is fled;
Our grief is half astonishment-half awe,
And all the mourning soul is fill'd with dread.
Oh, strange it seems that such as he should die-
Die to that world whose darkness he illumined-
Die with his glorious genius half reveal'd!
Oh earth!—oh man !-how darkly are ye doom'd!
Weep, Erin! weep. One other blow is struck ;
A link is added to thy chain of woe.
A wreath of gloomiest cypress swift entwine
For him, thy patriot-prelate, now laid low.
For thee he stepp'd from forth seclusion's shade,
And rear'd his towering mind in thy defence,
Till even thy foul maligners back recoil'd :
Weep for the trusty champion taken hence.
And thou, our holiest Mother, Church of God!
Deplore the stately column rent away!
Mourn genius, learning, piety, and zeal—
Assemblage rare in "tenement of clay."
Thine was the charity that warm'd his heart,
And thine the faith sublime which fill'd his soul.
Meet son of such a mother-he is dead;
What now can thy maternal heart console !
What though thy circling arm him still enfold,
Where stands his radiant soul before the throne,
'Mid thy triumphant warriors, brightly crown'd—
Yet mournest thou the light from this world gone ;
Thou sorrow'st for thy children thus bereaved-
The bright example from our view removed,
A radiance from this world of sin withdrawn.
So mourns thy mother-oh! thou most beloved!
For thee, my country! raise thy sorrowing eyes
To those far regions, where he "lives and reigns,"
Believe that still he loves and serves thee there-
Prays for thy weal, compassionates thy pains.
Though stripp'd of this world's wealth, thou still art rich;
Rich in the saints thou daily giv'st to heaven ;
Rich in the heritage of thine old faith,
Purely divine, and free from earthly leaven!
From forth thy hills and vales, how many a star
Hath shone upon the darkness of the earth,
Guiding the nations with the light of faith—
A blessing to the land that gave them birth!
Thou art not poor, loved island of our sires;
Rich in thy children we behold thee stand; Hadst thou but borne a Doyle and a Maginn,
The world would deem thee rich, mine honour'd
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