Classic Poem

2.
A holy, heavenly chime
Rings fulness in of time,
And on His Mother's breast
Our Lord God ever-Blest
Is laid a Babe at rest.

Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop,
Swoop, Angels, flying swoop,
Adoring as you gaze,
Uplifting hymns of praise: —
" Grace to the Full of Grace! "

The cave is cold and strait
To hold the angelic state:
More strait it is, more cold,
To foster and infold
Its Maker one hour old.

Thrilled thro' with awestruck love,
Meek Angels poised above,
To see their God, look down:
" What, is there never a Crown
For Him in swaddled gown?

" How comes He soft and weak
With such a tender cheek,
With such a soft small hand? —
The very Hand which spann'd
Heaven when its girth was plann'd.

" How comes He with a voice
Which is but baby-noise? —
That Voice which spake with might
— " Let there be light" — and light
Sprang out before our sight.

" What need hath He of flesh
Made flawless now afresh?
What need of human heart? —
Heart that must bleed and smart
Choosing the better part.

" But see: His gracious smile
Dismisses us a while
To serve Him in His kin.
Haste we, make haste, begin
To fetch His brethren in. "

Like stars they flash and shoot,
The Shepherds they salute:
" Glory to God " they sing:
" Good news of peace we bring,
For Christ is born a King. "