[Editor: This poem by “R.G.S.” — a pseudonym of John Neilson (1844-1922) — was published in The Border Watch (Mount Gambier, SA), 25 December 1878.]
Christmas Morn.
This is the Christmas morn,
The day the Babe was born;
And eighteen hundred years have waxed and waned
Since first with fear and awe
The shepherds heard and saw
The Heavenly host raise their celestial strain.
On the night air so still,
O’er the snow-shrouded hills,
The song of love from Heaven was wafted down;
While midnight’s glittering train
Shone o’er the sleeping plain
With starry gems that lit her sapphire crown.
Ring out the Christmas chimes,
And speed the happy time
When war and rapine shall for ever cease;
Till joining hand in hand
Throughout the happy land,
The sons of men shall sing the songs of peace.
For distant lands afar
Have felt the scourge of war;
Famine and death their weary round complete,
’Mid scorched and blacken’d towns,
In ruin dropping down,
Where homeless children shiver in the street.
On England’s shores at home,
Scourg’d by the wintry foam,
Where winter shakes the white down from his wings,
Dear friends together meeting,
Exchange the kindly greeting,
While chiming bells the Christmas carols ring.
But Christmas meets us here,
Not ’midst the white frost drear,
But laden with the spoils of flock and field,
Bringing the gathered sheaf,
Bearing the snowy fleece,
The emblems meet of fair Australia’s shield.
Why oft in joyous mood?
Will saddest thoughts intrude
Like mournful music on the night wind borne?
Is there some vacant place?
Is there some missing face?
That with us welcomed in last Christmas morn.
They bent beneath the blast
As the death angel pass’d;
For them flowers bloom and song birds sing in vain,
Cold as a quenched fire,
Dumb as stringless lyre
The silent lips that ne’er can speak again.
This is the Christmas morn —
O’er fields of ripening corn
The rippling sunshine glides, and bird and beast
Seem to rejoice each one
To see the glorious sun
Break from his purple chambers in the east.
Then welcome Christmas hours
With wealth of summer’s flowers;
We’ll bury all our feuds this Christmas morn,
Like brothers be our meeting,
Pass we the kindly greeting,
Good morning; ’tis the day the Christ was born.
R. G. S.
Penola.
Source:
The Border Watch (Mount Gambier, SA), 25 December 1878, p. 4
Editor’s notes:
the Babe = Jesus Christ (in the context of a baby Jesus Christ)
blacken’d = (vernacular) blackened
celestial strain = Heavenly song
dumb = mute, unable to speak; unwilling to speak; silent, not speaking (can also refer to: a lack of intelligence; someone who lacks intelligence, or who is regarded as stupid; something which is stupid, foolish, or pointless)
’mid = an abbreviation of “amid” or “amidst”: of or in the middle of an area, group, position, etc.
’midst = amidst; of or in the middle of an area, group, position, etc.
morn = morning
ne’er = (vernacular) an archaic contraction of “never”
o’er = (archaic) over (pronounced the same as “oar”, “or”, and “ore”)
oft = (archaic) often
pass’d = (vernacular) passed
rapine = pillage, plunder; seizure of property by force or by violence
scourg’d = (vernacular) scourged
’tis = (archaic) a contraction of “it is”
wane = decrease gradually in intensity, number, size, strength, or volume (e.g. “the moonlight waxed and waned”); to lose power or significance (e.g. “on the wane”); to come to a close, approach the end
wax = grow or increase gradually in intensity, number, size, strength, or volume (e.g. “the moonlight waxed and waned”); or to take on a particular characteristic or state (e.g. “to wax poetic”; often used in the context of someone speaking at length)
[Editor: Changed “Chistmas morn” to “Christmas morn” (in the first line).]
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