THE LAME CHILD'S CAROL.

To the chords of the harp,
And the warbling of the flute,
The merry tambourine,
And the beat of shoe and boot—
In the drawing-room, the parlour,
The alms-house, or the street,
Oh, what joy it always is to me
To see those dancing feet!

The ball-room is all brightness!
I sit and watch the throng;
My spirit, with their lightness,
Bounds happily along:
The village school-room strives to shine
With candles prim and small!
But oh, what beaming faces
Light up the whitewashed wall!

Then dance, my loving playmates,
Like birds upon the wing,
Flit by me—whirl around me—
While I sit here, and sing.

Chorus.
Bright sunny hopes are now awake,
As constant as the circling years;
They penetrate each grief, and make
A golden radiance of our tears.

THE DEAF CHILD'S CAROL.
Sing, happy children, standing in a row,
With smiling rosy cheeks, and hand in hand;
When the voice answers to the full heart's flow,
Mine sings within—and I can understand.

'Tis now three Christmas Eves since I have lost
All sense of sound—in constant silence dwelling;
But in my soul I hear, in tones august,
The wonders that the earth and heavens are telling.

Suns, stars, and moons, and oceans fathomless;
Man's generations—seed, and grass, and corn;
All these are hymned; but in its happiness,
The heart hears angels sing, that " Christ was born!"

So, will I gaze upon each emblem holy,
And at the festive board, or merry game,
In sympathy absorb all melancholy,
And loving thoughts to joyful visions frame.

Chorus.

Bright sunny hopes are now awake,
As constant as the circling years;
They penetrate each grief, and make
A golden radiance of our tears.

THE DEFORMED CHILD'S CAROL

There was a gentle steadfast gleam
Upon the morning sky,
Which shone across a stable door,
With shepherds standing by.

And wise old men were also there,
With beards that downward flowed,
And folded turbans on their heads,
And staves, o'er which they bowed.

The shepherds were of manly grace,
Their limbs of finest mould,
And noble were those field-born fronts,
Sun-brent to swarthy gold.

The stable-door was open wide,—
Within 'twas dusky dim,
Save that a circle of soft rays
Glowed to a low-breathed hymn.

It shone around an Infant's head;
And to its Mother's voice
The glory seemed to palpitate,
And tell me to rejoice.

I turned unto those shepherd men,
Of matchless thews and bone,
So lordly in their grace and strength—
And they were kneeling down!

I turned to see those old, wise men,
The wisest of the land;
And all of them were kneeling, too—
Bowed head—and upraised hand!

Another, and a greater strength
To cope with earth's sad storms—
Another, and a wiser lore,
Smiled in that Mother's arms.

And shall not I, with these frail limbs,
This framework of poor earth,
Rejoice with inward grace and strength
At my great Teacher's birth?

Chorus.
Bright sunny hopes are now awake,
As constant as the circling years;
They penetrate each grief, and make
A golden radiance of our tears.

THE DEAF AND DUMB CHILD'S CAROL.

I cannot speak, I cannot hear,
But I can feel and think,
And mine eyes are filled with the joyfulness
That hand to hand doth link,—
While round and round
The dancers bound,
And laugh and shout—and I see the sound,
Though silent to me
All the noise and the glee
Of the dance, the round-game, and revelry.

Something within me struggles oft
My happiness to tell in sounds;
Words—words—I strive to shout, or waft,
Along the room—across the grounds
And o'er the snow
As my playmates go;
But though 'tis in vain since the day of my birth,
The voice of my mind
Is ne'er left behind,
And cries welcome Christmas and all its good mirth!

The faces laugh in the red fire light!
Fingers, looks, actions, all speak to me;
Antics and fun make a merry night,
Till I fancy I hear the low hum of a sea,—
A murmur and rush—
Though it ends in a hush,
All tell me there's something outside of my ears;
But my life's in my eyes,—
Oh, thank God for the prize!
Which I carol at Christmas as year rolls on years!

Chorus.
Bright sunny hopes are now awake,
As constant as the circling years;
They penetrate each grief, and make
A golden radiance of our tears.