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The Christ-Child
By Thomas O'Hagan
Across the waste, across the snow,
O the pity! O the pity!
Past sentinel of friend and foe
O the pity! O the pity!
Comes the Christ-Child clad in white
Through the storm-clouds of the night.
Bearing in His lily hands
Gift of peace to warring lands,
O the pity! O the pity!
"Adeste fideles!" sing the choirs
O the pity! O the pity!
Lurid flame the battle fires
O the pity! O the pity!
Shepherds hear the heavenly song,
Mid the strife and piteous wrong;
Peace on earth but not of men,
Peace that knows not crime nor sin.
O the pity! O the pity!
Lay your sceptres at His feet,
O the pity! O the pity!
Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, greet,
O the pity! O the pity!
Legions stretched in battle line,
Saw the star and knew the sign,
Yet forgot that Christ was born
Prince of Peace, on Christmas morn,
O the pity! O the pity!
Christmas, 1914.
For Mrs. George McIntyre.
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