Now comes the Christmas-tide:
Love wakes on every side;
Mirth smiles from every eye;
Wreaths greet the passer-by.
Who, full of haughty pride,
Loves not the Christmas-tide?
He who, with av'rice low,
Cares not to joy bestow.
God save the wretch denied
Love for the Christmas-tide!
God tell his hardened heart
Pure joy must joy impart!
Who, close to grief allied,
Grieves‘ mid the Christmas-tide?
She who, at Sorrow's call,
Now mourns the loss of all.
God save the dear bereft —
Teach her the mercies left!
Show her that clouds may yet
Lift, ere her sun be set!
Who lonely must abide
All through the Christmas-tide?
He who has never known
Love-passion of his own.
So follows he his fate,
Friendly but desolate;
So — sad — his heart must hide
All through the Christmas-tide!