THE LOVING-CUP by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER

'TIS the time of year for the loving-cup
To pass from hand to hand,
When the sounds of wassail and revelry
Are echoing o'er the land.
For North, where the skater skims the mere,
And South, where the redbird sings,
A pulse of cheer to the waning year
The merry Christmas brings.

'Tis the time of the year for the open hand
And the tender heart and true,
When a rift of Heaven has cleft the skies,
And the saints are looking through.
The flame leaps high where the hearth was drear,
And sorrowful eyes grow bright,
For a message dear that all may hear
Is borne on the Christmas light.

'Tis the time of year for the cordial word
And the grace of the lifted load,
For brother to come to brother's help
On the rough and stony road.
'Tis the time to bury the ancient grudge,
And to make the quarrels up;
No hate has room where the roses bloom
'Round the Christmas loving-cup.

'Tis the time of year for children's joy,
And all in a scarlet row
The stockings hang in the ingle nook,
And the dreaming faces glow.
And the children turn and laugh in sleep,
To-morrow will be so gay;
For there never is mirth in this queer old earth,
Like the mirth of Christmas day.

'Tis the time of year for the loving-cup,
When the holly berries shine,
And with shout and song of man and maid,
The cedar and fir we twine.
Ah! pass the cup from the frozen North
To the South, where the robin sings,
For a pulse of cheer to the waning year
The merry Christmas brings.

'Tis the time of year for the sweet surprise,
For the blessing we did not see,
Though straight from the infinite love of God
'Twas coming to you and me.
'Tis the time for seeking once again
The sheen of the Bethlehem star;
And for kneeling fain, with the age-long train,
Where the Babe and Mary are.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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