A WEB of Woven Wool! fringed all around,
Ruddy and rich in hue like Syrian Wine,
With golden leaves inlaid on that dark ground,
That seem'd just shed from some o'ershadowing vine,
Such was the Lady's offering at Morwenna's Shrine!
We laid it on The Altar, while The Word
Linger'd in echoes o'er The conscious Wall,
The voice that prophesied our God had heard
The Sound of Alms, and would remember all:
'Twas The Child Jesu's Day, The Bethlehem Festival!
We offer'd it to Him--scorn not the phrase,
Ye proud and stately Magnates of the land,
Grudge not the Poor their Pence, nor God his praise,
Though as our simple Fathers stood, we stand,
And render thus our gifts with meek and votive hand!
We left it in that Chancel deck'd with flowers,
And boughs that blossom'd like old Aaron's Rod,
For faithful hands had built them leafy Bowers,
Along our Aisles, such as The Angels trod,
When Moses saw The Bush, and Abraham talk'd with God!
Christmas Day, 1848.