The Christ-Child

Across the waste, across the snow, O the pity! O the pity! Past sentinel of friend and foe O the pity! O the pity! Comes the Christ-Child clad in white Through the storm-clouds of the night. Bearing in His lily hands Gift of peace to warring lands, O the pity! O the pity!

"Adeste fideles!" sing the choirs O the pity! O the pity! Lurid flame the battle fires O the pity! O the pity! Shepherds hear the heavenly song, Mid the strife and piteous wrong; Peace on earth but not of men, Peace that knows not crime nor sin. O the pity! O the pity!

Lay your sceptres at His feet, O the pity! O the pity! Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, greet, O the pity! O the pity! Legions stretched in battle line, Saw the star and knew the sign, Yet forgot that Christ was born Prince of Peace, on Christmas morn, O the pity! O the pity!

Christmas, 1914.

For Mrs. George McIntyre.