ke when the world pays its
tribute to the "heaven-sent youngling," as the poet Drummond calls the
infant Christ.

When the Three Wise Men rode from the East into the West on that "first,
best Christmas night," they bore on their saddle-bows three caskets
filled with gold and frankincense and myrrh, to be laid at the feet of
the manger-cradled babe of Bethlehem. Beginning with this old, old
journey, the spirit of giving crept into the world's heart. As the Magi
came bearing gifts, so do we also; gifts that relieve want, gifts that
are sweet and fragrant with friendship, gifts that breathe love, gifts
that mean service, gifts inspired still by the star that shone over the
City of David nearly two thousand years ago.

Then hang the green coronet of the Christmas-tree with glittering
baubles and jewels of flame; heap offerings on its emerald branches;
bring the Yule log to the firing; deck the house with holly and
mistletoe,

"And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas day in the morning."

* * * * *

THE SHEPHERDS

WILLIAM DRUMMOND, OF HAWTHORNDEN

O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!
Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise
Of which that golden eye which clears the skies
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!
And blessed ye, in silly pastor's sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,
Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!

Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,
Though withered--blessed grass that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place!
Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,
Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees;
And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.

* * * * *

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

"What means this glory round our feet,"
The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?"
And voices chanted clear and sweet,
"To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

"What means that star," the Shepherds said,
"That brightens through the rocky glen?"
And angels, answering overhead,
Sang, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

'Tis eighteen hundred years and more
Since those sweet oracles were dumb;
We wait for Him, like them of yore;
Alas, He seems so slow to come!