by John Banister Tabb
To the cradle-bough of a naked tree,
Benumbed with ice and snow,
A Christmas dream brought suddenly
A birth of mistletoe.
The shepherd stars from their fleecy cloud
Strode out on the night to see;
The Herod north-wind blustered loud
To rend it from the tree.
But the old year took it for a sign,
And blessed it in his heart:
With prophecy of peace divine,
Let now my soul depart.
John Lane, LondonCopeland and Day, Boston