WE saw thee from the mountain tops, we hailed thee from the strand,
And the murmur of thy coming was like music in the land;
We led thee to our rocky heights, to place thee on thy throne,
And the benison was spoken that has scaled thee as our own.
Arise, immortal Christmas; re-baptised in our seas,
In the glory of the sunshine, and the freshness of the breeze.
Arise in new-born blessedness, while yet the hallow’d dews
In rainbow tints fall over thee, and clothe thee with their hues;
We sign thee with the diamond Cross that glitters in our sky,
And gird thee with the golden chains our teeming fields supply:
We melt the snows from off thy head, the furrows from thy brow,
And bid thine eye, thy voice, thy smile be ever bright as now.
We ask not for thy holly branch, or mystic mistletoe,
The yule log is not needed here upon the hearth to glow;
We reek not of thy costly cheer or bowl of sparkling wine,
To sickness, age, and poverty such tribute we assign.
We only bid thee sing us yet thy glorious strains of old;
The tidings of “Goodwill to man,” by wond’ring angels told:
We only ask that while to us this pleasant land is given,
Thy sceptre shining over us may point the way to Heaven!
© Emily Mary Barton