Page:Our American Holidays - Christmas.djvu/166

 138  And usages, whose due return invites A stir of mind too natural to deceive; Giving the memory help when she could weave A crown for Hope!—I dread the boasted lights That all too often are but fiery blights, Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve. Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring. The counter Spirit found in some gay church Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch In which the linnet or the thrush might sing, Merry and loud, and safe from prying search. Strains offered only to the genial spring.





GEORGE WITHER

So, now is come our joyfulst feast. Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is drest. And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine; Drown sorrow in a cup of wine. And let us all be merry. 