We have but faith:  we cannot know;
    For knowledge is of things we see;
    And yet we trust it comes from thee,
  A beam in darkness:  let it grow.

  Let knowledge grow from more to more,
    But more of reverence in us dwell;
    That mind and soul, according well,
  May make one music as before,

  But vaster.  We are fools and slight;
    We mock thee when we do not fear: 
    But help thy foolish ones to bear;
  Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

  Forgive what seemed my sin in me;
    What seemed my worth since I began;
    For merit lives from man to man,
  And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

  Forgive my grief for one removed,
    Thy creature, whom I found so fair. 
  I trust he lives in thee, and there
    I find him worthier to be loved.

  Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
    Confusions of a wasted youth;
  Forgive them where they fail in truth,
    And in thy wisdom make me wise.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

* * * * *

O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM.

  O little town of Bethlehem,
    How still we see thee lie! 
  Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
    The silent stars go by;
  Yet in thy dark streets shineth
    The everlasting Light;
  The hopes and fears of all the years
    Are met in thee to-night.

  For Christ is born of Mary,
    And, gathered all above. 
  While mortals sleep, the angels keep
    Their watch of wondering love. 
  O morning stars, together
    Proclaim the holy birth! 
  And praises sing to God the King,
    And peace to men on earth.

  How silently, how silently,
    The wondrous gift is given! 
  So God imparts to human hearts
    The blessings of His heaven. 
  No ear may hear His coming,
    But in this world of sin,
  Where meek souls will receive Him still,
    The dear Christ enters in.

  O holy Child of Bethlehem! 
    Descend to us, we pray;
  Cast out our sin, and enter in,
    Be born in us to-day. 
  We hear the Christmas angels
    The great glad tidings tell;
  Oh come to us, abide with us,
    Our Lord Emmanuel!

PHILLIPS BROOKS.

* * * * *

THE ANGELS’ SONG.

  It came upon the midnight clear,
    That glorious song of old,
  From angels bending near the earth
    To touch their harps of gold: 
  “Peace to the earth, good-will to men
    From heaven’s all-gracious King!”
  The world in solemn stillness lay
    To hear the angels sing.

  Still through the cloven skies they come,
    With peaceful wings unfurled;
  And still their heavenly music floats
    O’er all the weary world: 
  Above its sad and lowly plains
    They bend on heavenly wing,
  And ever o’er its Babel sounds
    The blessed angels sing.