CHRISTMAS FLOWERS.

HE Earth is so bleak and deserted,
So cold the winds blow,

That no bud or no blossom will venture
To peep from below;

But, longing for spring-time, they nestle
Deep under the snow.

O, in May how we honored Our Lady,
Her own month of flowers!

How happy we were with our garlands
Through all the spring hours!

All her shrines, in the church or the way-side,
Were made into bowers.

And in August

her glorious Assumption ;

What feast was so bright!

What clusters of virginal lilies,

Só pure and so white!

Why, the incense could scarce overpower
Their perfume that night.

And through her dear feasts of October
The roses bloomed still;

Our baskets were laden with flowers,
Her vases to fill:

Oleanders, geraniums, and myrtles,
We chose at our will.

And we know when the Purification,
Her first feast, comes round,

The early spring flowers, to greet it,

Just opening are found;

And pure, white, and spotless, the snowdrop
Will pierce the dark ground.

And now, in this dreary December,
Our glad hearts are fain

To see if Earth comes not to help us;
We seek all in vain :

Not the tiniest blossom is coming

Till Spring breathes again.

And the bright feast of Christmas is dawning,

And Mary is blest;

For now she will give us her Jesus,

Our dearest, our best,

And see where she stands, the Maid-Mother,
Her Babe on her breast!

And not one poor garland to give her,
And yet now, behold,

How the Kings bring their gifts - myrrh, and incens
And bars of pure gold :

And the Shepherds have brought for the Baby
Some lambs from their folds.

He stretches His tiny hands towards us,
He brings us all grace;

And look at His Mother who holds Him,

The smile on her face

Says they welcome the humblest gifts

In the manger we place.

Where love takes, let love give; and so doubt not: Love counts but the will,

And the heart has its flowers of devotion

No Winter can chill;

They who cared for "good will" that first Christmas Will care for it still.

In the Chaplet on Jesus and Mary,
From our hearts let us call,

At each Ave Maria we whisper
A rosebud shall fall,

And at each Gloria Patri a lily,
The crown of them all!

A DESIRE.

TO have dwelt in Bethlehem

When the star of the Lord shone bright!
To have sheltered the holy wanderers
On that blessed Christmas night;
To have kissed the tender wayworn feet
Of the Mother undefiled,

And, with reverent wonder and deep delight,
To have tended the Holy Child!

Hush! such a glory was not for thee;
But that care may still be thine;
For are there not little ones still to aid
For the sake of the Child divine ?
Are there no wandering Pilgrims now,
To thy heart and thy home to take?
And are there no mothers whose weary hearts
You can comfort for Mary's sake?

O to have knelt at Jesus' feet,

And to have learnt His heavenly lore!
To have listened the gentle lessons He taught
On mountain, and sea, and shore!
While the rich and the mighty knew Him not,
To have meekly done His will:
Hush! for the worldly reject Him yet,
You can serve and love Him still.
Time cannot silence His mighty words,
And though ages have fled away,
His gentle accents of love divine
Speak to your soul to-day.

O to have solaced that weeping one
Whom the righteous dared despise!
To have tenderly bound up her scattered hair,
And have dried her tearful eyes!

Hush! there are broken hearts to soothe,
And penitent tears to dry,

While Magdalen prays for you and them,
From her home in the starry sky.

O to have followed the mournful way
Of those faithful few forlorn!

And grace, beyond even an angel's hope,
The Cross for our Lord have borne !

To have shared in His tender mother's grief,
To have wept at Mary's side,

To have lived as a child in her home, and then
In her loving care have died!

Hush! and with reverent sorrow still,
Mary's great anguish share;

And learn, for the sake of her Son divine,
Thy cross, like His, to bear.

The sorrows that weigh on thy soul unite
With those which thy Lord has borne,
And Mary will comfort thy dying hour,
Nor leave thy soul forlorn.

O to have seen what we now adore,

And, though veiled to faithless sight,
To have known, in the form that Jesus wore,
The Lord of Life and Light!

Hush! for He dwells among us still,
And a grace can yet be thine,

Which the scoffer and doubter can never know, The Presence of the Divine.

Jesus is with His children yet,

For His word can never deceive ; Go where His lowly Altars rise, And worship, and believe.

OUR DAILY BREAD,

IVE us our daily Bread,

O God, the bread of strength!

For we have learnt to know

How weak we are at length.

As children we are weak,

As children must be fed ;

Give us Thy Grace, O Lord,
To be our daily Bread.

Give us our daily Bread,

The bitter bread of grief.