_The Christ is risen!
From this His earthly prison,
The Christ indeed is risen.
He is gone up on high,
To the perfect peace of heaven._"

Then, with a sigh,
We wondered...
Our minds evolved grim hordes of huns,
Our bruised hearts sank beneath the guns,
On our very souls they thundered.
Can you wonder?--Can you wonder,
That _we_ wondered,
As we heard the huns' guns thunder?
That we looked in one another's eyes
And wondered,--

"_Is Christ indeed then risen from the dead?
Hath He not rather fled
For ever from a world where He
Meets such contumely?_"

Our hearts were sick with pain,
As they beat the sad refrain,--
"_How shall the Lord Christ come again?
How can the Lord Christ come again?
Nay,--will He come again?
Is He not surely fled
For ever from a world where He
Is still so buffeted?_"

But the day's glory all forbade
Such depth of woe. Came to our aid
The sun, the birds, the springing things,
The winging things, the singing things;
And taught us this,--
_After each Winter cometh Spring,--
God's hand is still in everything,--
His mighty purposes are sure,--
His endless love doth still endure,
And will not cease, nor know remiss,
Despite man's forfeiture_.

_The Lord is risen indeed!
In very truth and deed
The Lord is risen, is risen, is risen;
He will supply our need_.

So we took heart again,
And built us refuges from pain
Within His coverture,--
Strong towers of Love, and Hope, and Faith,
That shall maintain
Our souls' estate
Too high and great
For even Death to violate.

THE CHILD OF THE MAID

On Christmas Day The Child was born,
On Christmas Day in the morning;--
_--To tread the long way, lone and lorn,
--To wear the bitter crown of thorn,
--To break the heart by man's sins torn,
--To die at last the Death of Scorn_.
For this The Child of The Maid was born,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

But that first day when He was born,
Among the cattle and the corn,
The sweet Maid-Mother wondering,
And sweetly, deeply, pondering
The words that in her heart did ring,
Unto her new-born king did sing,--

"My baby, my baby,
My own little son,
Whence come you,
Where go you,
My own little one?
Whence come you?

Ah now, unto me all alone
That