December 26

To whom then will ye liken God, or what likeness will ye compare unto Him?

THE weary world at war, Too sad to sing,

Knows not how, throned afar, The little Child is King;

But frightened kneels to pay A worship cold

To giant hands that may Such empire hold.

O foolish world, to lie And dream so ill!

O hapless man, whose eye Such cheating visions fill!

So, singing still, we pray, And praying sing,

Haste, Child, the golden day When all shall know Thee King.

The lips that curse shall bless. Sad earth, at length

Thou shalt see gentleness O'ermaster strength,

Thy multitudinous voice Our anthem ring:

Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice! The little Child is King.

WILLIAM

REED

HUNT-

INGTON

QUIET PILGRIMS