While our hands en twine

-

Him,

Dearest BABE,

Crowds of enow- white Angels Throng the golden stair; All things are delightful, All things passing fair: Bells, clear music making, Peal the news to earth; Chimes within make answer, All is glee and mirth.

Michael, at the manger, Bows his royal face; Gabriel, with lily,

Hides transcendent Grace: For, dear friends, the Glory Of that lowly bed Overpowers the beauty On Archangels shed.

Shall I tell of Joseph,

Who, with rapt surprise, Sees the light from Godhead, Fill those infant eyes? Shall I sing of Mary,

Who, upon her breast, Cradles her CREATOR,

Soothes Him to His rest?

Angels, Mary, Joseph,

Yes, I greet you all! Falling down in worship At the manger stall! For you hail our MONARCH, Born a CHILD to- day; So, with you I worship, And my homage pay.

-6­

a crown.