on the beautiful birthday of jesus,
while the nations praising stand,
he goeth from city to city,
he walketh from land to land.
and the snow lies white and heavy,
and the ice lies wide and wan,
but the love of the blessed christmas
melts even the heart of man.
with love from the heart of heaven,
in the power of his holy name,
to the city of the queen of the angels
the tender christ-child came.
the land blushed red with roses,
the land laughed glad with grain,
and the little hills smiled softly
in the freshness after rain.
land of the fig and olive!
land of the fruitful vine!
his heart grew soft within him,
as he thought of palestine,—
of the brooks with the banks of lilies,
of the little doves of clay,
and of how he sat with his mother
at the end of a summer’s day,
his head on his mother’s bosom,
his hand in his mother’s hand,
watching the golden sun go down
across the shadowy land,—
a moment’s life with human kind;
a moment,—nothing more;
eternity lies broad behind,
eternity before.
high on the hills of heaven,
majestic, undefiled,
forever and ever he lives, a god;
but once he lived, a child!
and the child-heart leaps within him,
and the child-eyes softer grow,
when the land lies bright and sunny,
like the land of long ago;
and the love of god is mingled
with the love of dear days gone,
when he comes to the city of his mother,
on the day her child was born!
