And child. From The Water-Babies. Eversley, 1862. YOU

With mist, And heavy with the scent of steaming leaves, And rosebuds
mouldering on the dripping porch; One twilight, without rise or set of
sun, Till beetles drone along the hollow lane, And round the leafless
hawthorns, flitting bats Hawk the pale moths of winter? Welcome then
At best, the flying gleam, the flying shower, The rain-pools
glittering on the long white roads, And shadows sweeping on from down
to down Before the salt Atlantic gale: yet come In whatsoever garb, or
gay, or sad, Come fair, come foul, 'twill
still be Christmas Day. How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day? To
sailors lounging on the lonely deck Beneath the rushing trade-wind? Or
to him, Who by some noisome harbour of the East, Watches swart arms
roll down the precious bales, Spoils of the tropic forests; year by
year Amid the din of heathen voices, groaning Himself half heathen?
How to those--brave hearts!
Who toil with laden loins and sinking stride Beside the bitter
wells of treeless sands Toward the peaks which flood

the ancient Nile, To free a tyrant's captives? How to those-- New
patriarchs of the new-found underworld-- Who stand, like Jacob, on the
virgin lawns, And

count their flocks' increase? To them that day Shall dawn in glory,
and solstitial blaze Of full midsummer sun: to them that morn, Gay
flowers beneath their feet, gay birds aloft, Shall tell of nought but
summer: but to them, Ere yet, unwarned
by carol or by chime, They spring into the saddle, thrills may come
From that great heart of
Christendom which beats Round all the worlds; and gracious thoughts of
youth; Of steadfast folk, who worship
God at home; Of wise words, learnt