When earth was bright with the mystic light
That on childhood's morning gleams,
And Christmas bells were voices of spells
That touched into life our dreams,—
My fancy would paint that kindly Saint
Who on wings of the midnight flew,
His gifts to shed round the children's bed,—
And the dream, tho' a dream, was true.

When youth was sped, and fantasy fled
In the glare of manhood's noon,
Still my heart would greet one vision sweet,
Thro' the mist of the Christmas moon;
Down a shining stair came a maiden fair,
O fond was the joy we knew!
It faded away with the waking day,—
But my glad love-dream was true.

And now I have dreamed of a world redeemed
From poverty, pain and ill;
Of peace on earth thro' the Blessed Birth,
For struggle and strife, good-will;—
Though sadly and slow our world doth grow
Toward the morning where all is new—
God send us heart still to hear our part
In making the bright dream true!