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Poem by Paul Hamilton Hayne

A Christmas Lyric

THO' the Earth with age seems whitened,
And her tresses hoary and old
No longer are flushed mad brightened
By glintings of brown or gold,
A voice from the Syrian highlands,
O'er waters that flash and stir,
By the belts of their tropic islands,
Still singeth of joy to her!

A song which the centuries hallow!
Though softer than April rain
That soweth on field and fallow,
A spell that shall rise in grain--
Yet deep as the sea-strain chanted
On the fluctuant ocean-lyre,
By the magical west-wind haunted,
With the pulse of his soul on fire!

A promise to lift the lowly,--
To weed the soul of its tares,
And change into harmonies holy
The discord of fierce despairs:
A glory of high Evangels,
Of rhythmical storms and calms;
All hail to the voices of angels,
Heard over the starlit palms!

A hymn of hope to the ages,
The music of deathless trust,
No frenzy of mortal rages
Can darken with doubt or dust;
A rapture of high evangels,
But centred in sacred calms!
Ah! still the chorus of angels
Thrills over the Bethlehem palms!

Still heralds the day-spring tender,
That never can melt or close,
Till the noon of it's deepening splendor
Out-blooms, like a mystic rose,
Whose petals are rays supernal
Of love that hath all sufficed,--
And whose heart is the grace eternal,
Of the fathomless peace of Christ!

Paul Hamilton Hayne

Paul Hamilton Hayne's other poems:
  1. Too Oft the Poet in Elaborate Verse
  2. O God! What Glorious Seasons Bless Thy World!
  3. A New Version of Why the RobinТs Breast Is Red
  4. The Laughing Hours before Her Feet
  5. An Idle Poet, Dreaming in the Sun

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