The Christmas Homes of England

Original Text: 
Mrs. Alfred Hayward, The Battles of the Crimea (Port Hope, Canada West: J. C. Ansley, 1855), pp. 52-54. B-11 5919 Fisher Library.
1The Christmas homes of England!
2How far-famed and how dear;
3In bright array they ever stand,
4That glad day of the year;
5When gathered round the hearth-stone,
6The loved ones joyful meet,
7With one accord from far and near,
8The circle glad to greet.
9The Christmas homes of England!
10O, many a joyous brow,
11Which ever yet hath hailed that day,
12Will sorrowfully bow,
13When this one now returneth;
14For they look, but look in vain,
15The pride and joy of that glad home,
16They ne'er shall see again!
17The Christmas homes of England!
18In manhood's noblest bloom,
20Have found their lowly tomb;
21The warrior grey, whose stalwart arm
22Had prostrate laid the foe;
23And gallant sons of noble sires,
24By them in death lie low!
25The Christmas homes of England!
26Alike in peasant's cot,
27Where hath the death-wail not been heard,
28Where hath it entered not?
29And the widowed mother silent weeps,
30And sheds the bitter tear,
31As fancy sees her gallant boy,
32The cold ground for his bier!
33The Christmas homes of England!
34In that far-off Eastern land,
35What thoughts will be awakened
36Among that gallant band?
37How from scenes so dark and fearful,
38Their spirit will take flight
39To the bright home of their childhood,
40And the happy Christmas night!
41The Christmas homes of England!
42The love of many years
43Is turned into a ceaseless fount
44Of bitterness and tears;
45The mother and the widow,
46The maiden and the child,
47They call; but none shall answer,
48Those loving accents mild!
49O, Christmas homes of England!
50There's One, the widow's God!
51Who, while He chastens, pitieth
52The sad ones 'neath His rod;
53His arm beneath supported
54Thy loved ones in the field,
55And whispered, "Leave thy little ones
56To me, their God, their shield!
57O, Christmas homes of England!
58Let all unite in prayer,
59That He, the widow's God, may take
60Such to His special care;
61And we to whom he spareth
62Our hearts best treasure yet;
63The widow and the orphan,
64O let us not forget!

Notes

19] Alma: The river Alma flows through the Crimea into the Black Sea. Back to Line
Publication Start Year: 
1855
RPO poem Editors: 
Ian Lancashire
RPO Edition: 
RPO 1998.
Rhyme: