Let all things now be new to me, And teach me that new song J. G. SMALL. We have heard the poets celebrate the birthday of the Christ-child, with all its hallowed, endearing, and joyful associations; we have seen how they rejoiced at the birth of a new year; let us now listen to their welcomings of the birthdays of those whom the Christ-child came to redeem. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE VOYAGE. SUNG OVER THE CRADLE OF A NEW-BORN INFANT. Behold, my friends, this bark of tiny mould, Ah, shall not we its crew and pilot be? With our gay songs its onward voyage cheer. Already Destiny the canvas swells, Already Hope the silken cordage binds, With our gay songs its onward voyage cheer. Nor, with red wine, will jovial Bacchus fail; With our gay songs its onward voyage cheer. Once more, to hail our galley, comes in haste Misfortune: rescued now from want and woe, She prays that every joy the babe may taste Which those who bind the wounded heart can know. Sure that each fervent prayer that loads the gale The God who guards the sleeping babe shall hear, Let us, who see the little bark set sail, With our gay songs its onward voyage cheer. FROM THE FRENCH OF BERAnger. Martin F. Tupper tells us that A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love: A resting-place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men. Yet it is a talent of trust, a loan to be rendered back with interest; A delight, but redolent of care; honey-sweet, but lacking not the bitter; For character groweth day by day, and all things aid it in unfolding, And the bent unto good or evil may be given in the hours of infancy; For disposition is builded up by the fashioning of first impressions: Wherefore, though the voice of instruction waiteth for the ear of reason, Yet with his mother's milk the education. young child drinketh That eminent Oriental scholar, Sir William Jones, among his admirable paraphrases from Eastern languages, has this striking verse: On parent knees, a naked new-born child, Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled; So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep, Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee weep. Looking on this new-born child, does not the heart say Joy thou bring'st, but mix'd with trembling; Smiles of transport dash'd with tears. There is much sweetness and tenderness, as well as piety, in that old song by George Wither, who was born in 1588: SWEET BABY, SLEEP! Sleep, baby, sleep! what ails my dear? Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy Father dear, His holy Spouse thy mother too. Though thy conception was in sin, While thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; And hath a kingdom bought for thee; Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear; And God and angels are thy friends. When God with us was dwelling here, A little infant once was He, And, strength in weakness, then was laid Upon his virgin-mother's knee, That power to thee might be convey'd. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep! In this thy frailty and thy need, The King of kings, when He was born, Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. Within a manger lodged the Lord, Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; The wants that He did then sustain, Thou hast, yet more to perfect this, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not. |