POETRY.
THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.
(IRELAND.)
IF Mary came to the door to-night,
In the bitter wind and soaking rain; If she came to me in her sorry plight To plead as one woman pleads with another, As mothers come in their need to a mother, If Mary came in the wind and rain She should never beg at my door in vain.
If Mary came to the door to-night, Her Baby sleeping upOn her breast, Saying, "Let you share with me warmth and light,
For I bear in my arms the World's Desire, But cold are His limbs and we have no fire.
O stranger woman, may you be blessed
If you open your door and give us rest"—
If Mary stood and knocked at my door A thousand welcomes herself should find, And she'd not be scorning a house so poor, With the homespun linen upon the table.
No place she found one time but a stable— With the poor dumb beasts were good and kind—
And a thatch to shield her from rain and wind.
If Mary came, the Mother of God, The Rose of the World upon her breast, Oh! I'd sweep the ashes and stir the sod, And bring her new bread and cakes of my baking, With the freshest butter, this morning's making, Kneeling I'd give her best of my best, Mary the Mother, earth's Christmas guest.
W. M. LETTS.
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