(Noel.)


By the sad fellowship of human suffering,
By the bereavements that are thine and mine,
I venture--oh, forgive me!--with this offering,
I would it were to thee God's oil and wine

I too have suffered--is it then surprising
If to thy sacred grief I enter in?
My spirit draws near thine all sympathising,
Sorrow, like love, "makes aliens near of kin."

Thou'rt weeping for thy gathered blossoms, mother,
The Lord had need of him, and called him soon,
In morning freshness ere the dews of heaven
Were chased before the burning rays of noon.

Thy darling child, like to God's summer blossom,
Was very fair and pleasant to the sight,
The sunny head that rested on thy bosom,
The loving eyes that were thy heart's delight,

Made passers by look on him with a blessing,
Saying, "His mother is not all alone;
Her widowed sorrow, in that sweet caressing,
Will find some comfort for the lost and gone."

I miss him from the doorway, blythely playing,
Where he has turned on me his winsome face;