Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.1 #3 (Jan 1867).
Red gleams the light from many a pointed casement,
Red on the cold white snow;
Loud rings the Christmas mirth from roof to basement;
The dancers come and go.
Now Beauty's shadow flickers on the curtain,
Now Childhood's form flits by;
Like phantom figures changeful and uncertain
To one lone wanderer's eye.
Ah, what sad music seems that merry measure
To that child-wand'rer's ear!
How distant seem those sounds of mirth and pleasure!
How strange the Christmas cheer!
He crouches shivering in profound dejection
Beneath the wintry night;
But little knows he of home's fond affection,
Or childhood's pure delight.
Afar he hears the Christmas joy-bells ringing,
Mixed with the children's mirth;
Clear floats the sound of fresh young voices singing
Athwart the frost-bound earth.
"Ah, not for me," he cries, "the festive gladness,
For me no Christmas kiss;
I sit without the door, in pain and sadness,
To hear the children's bliss.
"They say God doth the homeless orphans cherish
With fond and tender care;
Ah, why then doth He leave me here to perish
Alone in my despair?"
Lo, as he murmurs, slumber creepeth o'er him,
On the cold earth he lies;
While midst the snow a Vision comes before him
Out of the opened skies.
The fair young Christ, in His supernal splendour,
Smiles on that friendless boy;
"Ah, come," He cries in accents fondly tender,
"And I will give thee joy.
"This earth's best pleasures are but false and hollow,
Fair fruits, with bitter core;
O weary wanderer, come, My footsteps follow
To Heaven's eternal shore.
"In that far country shall thy kindred greet thee;
There shall thy mother come
With outstretch'd arms and loving smiles to meet thee,
And bid thee welcome home.
"There shalt thou hear the hymns of angels pealing
Amidst the starry spheres;
There for thy aching limbs find waters healing,
There balm for all thy tears.
"Heed not those sounds of earthly music blending
Its measure with thy sleep;
In My bright home is harmony unending—
There shalt thou Christmas keep."
Lo, in the morning, when men oped the portal,
They found the orphan—dead!
And who shall doubt that in the realm immortal
His Christmas Feast was spread?