Here stands my bottle and hook,
Good kitchen-maid, draw near,
Thou art an honest cook,
And canst brew ale and beer;
Thy office show,
Before I go,
My bottle and bag come fill,
And for thy sake
I'll merry make
Upon the next green hill.

_New Christmas Carols._

FROM "THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD."

AT BETHLEHEM.

So many hills arising, green and gray,
On Earth's large round, and that one hill to say:
"I was his bearing-place!" On Earth's wide breast
So many maids! and she--of all most blest--
Heavily mounting Bethlehem, to be
His Mother!--Holy Maid of Galilee!
Hill, with the olives, and the little town!
If rivers from their crystal founts flow down,
If 'twas the dawn which did day's gold unbar,
Ye were beginnings of the best we are,
The most we see, the highest that we know,
The lifting heavenward of man's life below.
Therefore, though better lips ye shall not lack,
Suffer if one of modern mood steals back--
Weary and wayworn from the desert-road
Of barren thought; from Hope's Dead Sea, which glowed
With Love's fair mirage; from the poet's haunt,
The scholar's lamp, the statesman's scheme, the vaunt,
The failure, of all fond philosophies,--
Back unto Thee, back to thy olive-trees,
Thy people, and thy story, and thy Son,
Mary of Nazareth! So long agone
Bearing us Him who made our christendom,
And came to save the earth, from heav'n, His home.

So many hill-sides, crowned with rugged rocks!
So many simple shepherds keeping flocks
In many moonlit fields! but, only they--
So lone, so long ago, so far away--
On that one winter's night, at Bethlehem,
To have white angels singing lauds for them!
They only--hinds wrapped in the he-goat's skin--
To hear heaven's music, bidding peace begin!
Only for those, of countless watching eyes,
The "Glory of the Lord" glad to arise;
The skies to blaze with gold and silver light
Of seraphs by strong joy flashed into sight;
The wind, for them, with that strange song to swell,--
By too much happiness incredible--
That tender anthem of good times to be,
Then at their dawn--not daylight yet, ah me!
"Peace upon earth! Good-will!" sung to the strings
Of lutes celestial. Nay, if these things
Too blessed to believe have seemed, or seem,
Not ours the fault, dear angels! Prove the dream
Waking and true! sing once again,