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Dinah Maria Mulock - The First Waits
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A MEDITATION FOR ALL.

SO, Christmas is here again!-- 
While the house sleeps, quiet as death, 
`Neath the midnight moon comes the Waits` shrill tune, 
And we listen and hold our breath. 

The Christmas that never was-- 
On this foggy November air, 
With clear pale gleam, like the ghost of a dream, 
It is painted everywhere. 

The Christmas that might have been-- 
It is borne in the far-off sound, 
Down the empty street, with the tread of feet 
That lie silent underground. 

The Christmas that yet may be-- 
Like the Bethlehem star, leads kind: 
Yet our life slips past, hour by hour, fast, fast, 
Few before--and many behind. 

The Christmas we have and hold, 
With a tremulous tender strain, 
Half joy, half fears--Be the psalm of the years, 
"Grief passes, blessings remain!" 

The Christmas that sure will come, 
Let us think of, at fireside fair;-- 
When church bells sound o`er one small green mound, 
Which the neighbors pass to prayer. 

The Christmas that God will give,-- 
Long after all these are o`er, 
When is day nor night, for the LAMB is our Light, 
And we live forevermore.
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