White dawn of the Christmas morning,
Through the snow-wreaths shining pale.
Let the joy-bells ring through the valleys,
Hail to thy coming--hail!




TE DEUM LAUDAMUS


Along the floors of heaven the music rolls,
Fills the vast dome, and lifts our fainting souls:
Praise God! Oh praise Him all created things,
Praise Him, the Lord of lords, the King of kings

Slow pulses coursing darkly underground,
Leap up in leaf and blossom at the sound,
Shake out glad pennons in remotest ways,
And with a thousand voices utter praise.

Along the southern hills the verdure creeps,
And faint green foliage clothes the craggy steeps,
Where in the sunshine lie reposing herds.
Whose gladness has no need of spoken words.

In the deep woods there is a voice, which saith
"The Lord is risen--there shall be no more death!
Listen, Oh Man! and thy dull ears shall hear