A Nativity

The Babe was laid in the Manger
Between the gentle kine,
All safe from cold and danger,
"But it was not so with mine,
(With mine! With mine!)
"Is it well with the child, is it well?"
The waiting mother prayed.
"For I know not how he fell,
And I know not where he is laid."

A Star stood forth in Heaven;
The Watchers ran to see
The Sign of the Promise given,
"But there comes no sign to me.
(To me! To me!)
"My child died in the dark.
Is it well with the child, is it well?
There was none to tend him or mark,
And I know not how he fell."

The Cross was raised on high;
The Mother grieved beside,
"But the Mother saw Him die
And took Him when He died.
(He died! He died!)
"Seemly and undefiled
His burial-place was made,
Is it well, is it well with the child?
For I know not where he is laid."

On the dawning of Easter Day
Comes Mary Magdalene;
But the Stone was rolled away,
And the Body was not within,
(Within! Within!)
"Ah, who will answer my word?
The broken mother prayed.
"They have taken away my Lord,
And I know not where He is laid."

. . . . .

"The Star stands forth in Heaven.
The watchers watch in vain
For Sign of the Promise given
Of peace on Earth again,
(Again! Again!)
"But I know for Whom he fell",
The steadfast mother smiled,
"Is it well with the child, is it well?
It is well, it is well with the child!"

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

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English

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The Gift Of The Sea

The dead child lay in the shroud,
And the widow watched beside;
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept
The gale in the teeth of the tide.

But the mother laughed at all.
"I have lost my man in the sea,
And the child is dead. Be still," she said,
"What more can ye do to me?"

The widow watched the dead,
And the candle guttered low,
And she tried to sing the Passing Song
That bids the poor soul go.

And "Mary take you now," she sang,
"That lay against my heart."
And "Mary smooth your crib to-night,"
But she could not say "Depart."

Then came a cry from the sea,
But the sea-rime blinded the glass,
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said,
"'Tis the child that waits to pass."

And the nodding mother sighed:
"'...

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The Shunamite.[A]

It was a sultry day of summer time.
The sun pour'd down upon the ripen'd grain
With quivering heat, and the suspended leaves
Hung motionless. The cattle on the hills
Stood still, and the divided flock were all
Laying their nostrils to the cooling roots,
And the sky look'd like silver, and it seem'd
As if the air had fainted, and the pulse
Of nature had run down, and ceas'd to beat.

'Haste thee, my child!' the Syrian mother said,
'Thy father is athirst' - and from the depths
Of the cool well under the leaning tree,
She drew refreshing water, and with thoughts
Of God's sweet goodness stirring at her heart,
She bless'd her beautiful boy, and to his way
Committed him. And he went lightly on,
With his soft hands press'd closely to the cool
Stone vessel, ...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Little Minnie.

Is it well with the child? and she answered, it is well.


If earth's weariness for rest is changed,
    Rest on the far off shore,
If earth's sighing's changed for singing
    Psalms of praise for evermore.

And the bed of pain for roaming free,
    Beneath the living trees,
Whose leaves of healing wither not
    In any earthly breeze.

And to mix with those who, robed and crowned,
    Walk by the crystal sea;
To gather with the other lambs
    Beside the Saviour's knee.

We will keenly miss our absent child;
    Lonely tears our loss will tell,
But His voice says, "It is well with her,
    We answer, "It is well."

It is well to know that safely home
    Is this our dearest one;
To know she's with the children fai...

Nora Pembroke

The Child Of The Maid

On Christmas Day The Child was born,
On Christmas Day in the morning;--
    --To tread the long way, lone and lorn,
    --To wear the bitter crown of thorn,
    --To break the heart by man's sins torn,
    --To die at last the Death of Scorn.
For this The Child of The Maid was born,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

But that first day when He was born,
Among the cattle and the corn,
The sweet Maid-Mother wondering,
And sweetly, deeply, pondering
The words that in her heart did ring,
Unto her new-born king did sing,--

"My baby, my baby,
My own little son,
Whence come you,
Where go you,
My own little one?
Whence come you?

Ah now, unto me all alone
That wonder of wonders is properly known.
Where go you?
Ah, that...

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Weep With Those Who Weep.

(Mary Maud.)


O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving,
    In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears;
Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving
    The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden years

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given,
    There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep,
Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven
    In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep

There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter,
    Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet,
You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after
    The tender touch of ...

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At Home

I thought it pleasant when a manly sire
Weary of foreign travel, at the door
Of his own cottage left his dusty staff,
And entering in, sat down with those he loved
Beside the hearth of home; - and pleasant, too,
When a fond mother, absent for a day,
At eve returning, from the sunset hill
That overlooked her cot, descried her boys
Flying with joyous feet along the path
To greet her coming; and, with clasping hands
Of baby welcome, lead her through the gate
Of her sweet home.

                                    Pleasant I deemed it, too,
When a young man, a wanderer for years
From those he loved, at length sat down again
With sire and mother in the twilight hour
At home; - and when a gentle daughter, long
From mother's kiss and father's blessing far,<...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)