nd the hake:

The greatest and the least of these
From hidden pools and tidal ways
Surged in their myriads from the seas
And stared at St. Columba's face.

"Hearken," he cried, with solemn voice--
"Hearken! ye people of the Deep,
Ye people of the skies, Rejoice!
No more your soulless terror keep!

"For lo, an Angel from the Lord
Hath shown us that wherein we sin--
But now we humbly do His Word
And call you, Brothers, kith and kin....

"No more we claim the world as ours
And everything that therein is--
To-day, Christ's Day, the infinite powers
Decree a common share of bliss.

"I know not if the new-waked soul
That stirs in every heart I see
Has yet to reach the far-off goal
Whose symbol is this Cross-shaped Tree....

"But, O dumb kindred of the skies,
O kinsfolk of the pathless seas,
All scorn and hate I exorcise,
And wish you nought but Love and Peace!"

* * * * *

Thus, on that Christmas-day of old
St. Colum broke the ancient spell.
A thousand years away have rolled,
'Tis now ... "a baseless miracle."

O fellow-kinsmen of the Deep,
O kindred of the wind and cloud,
God's children too ... how He must weep
Who on that day was glad and proud!

THE CHRISTMAS SONG OF CAEDMON

H.E.G. PARDEE

About the year 650, among the servants in the ancient Abbey of
Streonschall, there was a cowherd whose name was Caedmon. The habits of
the people of that age were simple and rude; their houses were comfortless
huts, their dress was made from the skins of their flocks, or from animals
taken in the chase; they had no books, and their literature was limited to
the Latin manuscripts of the Church, which few of the monks even were
learned enough to read, and fewer still to translate. Amid such
influences, the life of a cowherd could scarcely be lifted above that of
the beasts he cared for; if his hunger and thirst were satisfied, he would
ask no more than a pleasant, daisied meadow in summer, and a warm nook in
the winter. But Caedmon had a sensitive nature, that craved something
nobler. When the minstrels struck their harps, and sung the wild
traditions and fierce conflicts of their tribes and the guests followed
with boisterous jest in their uncouth ballads, Caedmon sat silent and
gloomy.

One evening, as the harp, passing from one to another, drew nearer him,
dreading the oft-repeated taunts of his fellows, he crept away in the
shadows, and went to his only bed,--a truss of