Ruddy bright the dying embers
In the glooming, glow and burn,
Scenes of olden-time Decembers,
Ashes now in Times' great urn,
That the heart so well remembers
At this haunted hour reborn:—
All the fairy scenes Elysian
Born again in recollection,
Seen with mirror-like reflection,
Throng upon the wondering vision.
Once again I hear the river
In the darkness rush and roar,
See the pine-boughs wave and quiver,
Hear the oak trees, blasted, hoar,
Muttering, as their gaunt arms shiver,
"Come again, oh! days of yore!"
Come, oh times of hope and longing,
When the beauteous, pure ideal,
Seemed tangible and real—
"Love the light of Truth's belonging."

And the woodland walks, enchanted,
By the moonlight's mystic sheen,
Seen as near as when Hope flaunted
In the distance, dimly seen,
That the witched hour seems haunted
By the joys that once have been.
Dear old days! they seem returning.
Though their radiance long has vanished,
Though their rays stern fate has banished,
Fancy still can see them burning.

See their magic, nameless graces,
Through the shadows flit and gleam,
See again beloved faces
Shine around as in a dream,
And the well-remembered places
Of the bygone, nearer seem,
Till all present melancholy,
Fades away, and sweet and tender,
Visions of life's spring-time splendour,
Gleam among the bay and holly.

Hark! the Christmas bells are ringing
From the grey church-steeple near,
And the choir are sweetly singing,
"Nowel! Hail Messiah here!
Nowel! for He cometh, bringing
Unto all mankind good cheer."
Through the night the music stealing
Bringeth soothing sweet and pleasant,
Sheds a peace upon the present,
Future days in light revealing.