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