28 DECEMBER 1918, Page 15

POETRY.

THE CHRISTMAS DOVE.

Lox° lost, long sought by prayer, by sighe, The Dove descends on Christ once more, The Dove, the Darling of the skies, Christ, Whom to see is to adore.

Soft flutter of relenting wings !

Sweet child-touch on a wounded world ! The bloom returns of vanished springs— And back to Hell the sword is hurled !

Proud weans cleave the air, like that Which swelled on the first Christmas morn, And, murmuring our Magnificat, We kiss the Prince of Peace, new-born.

PAULINE W. ROOSE.