From God, our Heavenly Father,

A blessed Angel came,

And unto certain shepherds

Brought tidings of the same;

That there was born in Bethlehem
The Son of God by name.
O tidings, etc.

"Fear not," then said the Angel,
"Let nothing you affright,
For there is born in Bethlehem
Of a pure Virgin bright,

One able to advance you,

And throw down Satan quite."
O tidings, etc.

The shepherds, at those tidings,
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm, and wind,

And straightway went to Bethlehem
The Son of God to find.

O tidings, etc.

But when they came to Bethlehem,

Where as this Infant lay,
They found Him in a manger,

Where oxen feed on hay,
His mother Mary kneeling down,
Unto the Lord did pray.

O tidings, etc.

With sudden joy and gladness
The shepherds were beguiled,
To see the Babe of Israel,

Before His mother mild.

O then with joy and cheerfulness
Rejoice, each mother's child.
O tidings, etc.

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,

And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace,
This holy tide of Christmas
All others doth deface.
O tidings, etc.

God bless the ruler of this house,
And send him long to reign,
And many a merry Christmas
May he live to see again
Among his friends and kindred
That live both far and near;

And God send you a happy New Year.

UNKNOWN.

DRINKING SONG.

From "Ritson's English Songs,” 1783.

H

AD Neptune, when first he took charge of the sea, Been as wise, or at least been as merry as we, He'd have thought better on 't, and, instead of his brine, Would have filled the vast ocean with generous wine.

What trafficking, then, would have been on the main,
For the sake of good liquor, as well as for gain!
No fear then of tempest, or danger of sinking;
The fishes ne'er drown that are always a-drinking.

The hot, thirsty Sun then would drive with more haste,
Secure in the evening of such a repast;

And when he'd got tipsy would have taken his nap,
With double the pleasure in Thetis's lap.

By the force of his rays, and thus heated with wine,
Consider how gloriously Phoebus would shine;
What vast exhalations he 'd draw up on high,
To relieve the poor earth as it wanted supply.

How happy us mortals when bless'd with such rain,
To fill all our vessels, and fill them again!

Nay, even the beggar that has ne'er a dish,
Might jump in the river and drink like a fish.

What mirth and contentment in every one's brow,
Hob as great as a prince dancing after the plow !
The birds in the air, as they play on the wing,
Although they but sip, would eternally sing.

The stars, who I think don't to drinking incline,
Would frisk and rejoice at the fume of the wine;
And, merrily twinkling, would soon let us know
That they were as happy as mortals below.

Had this been the case, what had we then enjoy'd, Our spirits still rising, our fancy ne'er cloy'd!

A plague, then, on Neptune, when 't was in his power, To slip, like a fool, such a fortunate hour.

LITTLE BO-PEEP.

H. CHOLMONDELEY-PENNell.

The following is from a little volume of poems by Mr. Cholmondeley-Pennell, entitled "From Grave to Gay." London, 1884.

"L

ITTLE BO-PEEP has lost her sheep,"

And some one or other 's lost little Bo-peep

Or she'd never be wand'ring at twelve o'clock
With a golden crook and a velvet frock,
In a diamond necklace, in such a rout,-

In diamond buckles and high heel'd shoes

(And a dainty wee foot in them, too, if you choose,

.)

And an ankle a sculptor might rave about .
But I think she's a little witch, you know,
With her broomstick-crook and her high-heel'd shoe
And the mischievous fun that flashes thro'

The wreaths of her amber hair-don't you?

No wonder the flock follows little Bo-peep,

Such a shepherd would turn all the world into sheep,

To trot at her heels and look up in the face

Of their pastor for-goodness knows what, say for grace?— Her face that recalls in its reds and its blues,

And its setting of gold, " Esmeralda" by Greuze.

There you 've Little Bo-peep, dress, diamonds, and all,
As I met her last night at the Fancy Ball.