. At early candle light and other poems. the weary world the worth That in the lowly soul may dwell Where rules the Prince Immanuel, When lyOve has had his wondrous way,O Christmas Day, O Christmas Day! O Christmas Day, O Christmas Day!All hate and envy thou dost slay ; Buried deep beneath the snow, Hid by holly and mistletoe, Oer them advent angels to the choir of chiming bells!This is the story the steeple tells: God has come to this world to stay, O Christmas Day, O Christmas Day! HIS NARK IT is told of Angelo, that once lie cameInto the lowly cottage of a friend,And found it empty;
. At early candle light and other poems. the weary world the worth That in the lowly soul may dwell Where rules the Prince Immanuel, When lyOve has had his wondrous way,O Christmas Day, O Christmas Day! O Christmas Day, O Christmas Day!All hate and envy thou dost slay ; Buried deep beneath the snow, Hid by holly and mistletoe, Oer them advent angels to the choir of chiming bells!This is the story the steeple tells: God has come to this world to stay, O Christmas Day, O Christmas Day! HIS NARK IT is told of Angelo, that once lie cameInto the lowly cottage of a friend,And found it empty; yet he left no name, But one great curve did swiftly bendOn the blank canvas near. When, on return, his comrade did ex-claim, Behold, the Buonarotti hath been here! I saw a splendid rainbow span the sky With its mysterious and mighty arch;In stately grandeur sweeping heaven high,Oer which a tempest, with majesticmarch,In thunderous music trod. Lo, this small studio, our world,said I,* Hath this day had a visit from our God. MIRROR LAKE. ^HEN Day cometh over the dimmountain tops,She seeth, far down in the en-chanted copse,Her fair face reflected in that magic glassLaid on the lawn where the Merced dothdoth ^0, the vale hangs inverted, enfolded in firs,Thro fathoms of crystal the soaring lark whirrs,And seemeth to sink into eternityIn the marvelous mirror of Yosemite. She lingereth there, oer the sky lintel bent,And seeth beneath her the blue firmament. Watching the mists of the morning that scaleThe path of the winding and perilous trail,The steeps of the Sierras gray monochrome,The storm-smitten summit of awful South Dome,When by the great portal of red porphyryThe sun drives his car into Yosemite. 39 40 niRROR LAKE Below, in clear water, the tall turrets swing, The bold cedar-trees to the terraces cling,The sevenfold rainbow is flinging its spanFrom Bridal Veil Falls unto Bl Capitan. As spun by the sun from the foamy cascade. When arching across the aerial glade, It loo
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