While The Billy BoilsSearchA “wallaby” Christmas, Jack, old man!—Well, a worse fate might befall us!The bush must do for our church to-day,And birds be the bells to call us.The breeze that comes from the shore beyond,Thro’ the old gum-branches swinging,Will do for our solemn organ-chords,And the sound of children singing.
Yon wide blue sky, breaking in between,We catch in these passing glances,The glimpse of river and creek below,Where a gap in the leafage chances,Mean more than the light thro’ the springing arch,Filling dim cathedral spaces:God’s living aisles lead to altars high—We are ever in holy places!
Let’s lie an hour on the rough bush grass,—The swag will do for a pillow,—And list to the low bush monotone,The boom of the distant billow.We get our text and our sermon, too,After all we’ve missed, friend Jack!Let’s turn our faces to God’s great East,Alone on the “wallaby track!”
O, hear the warble among the birds,With never a note of sadness!They’re all too pure for the need of prayer,And the Jubilate gladnessIs matin chorus and vesper hymnWherever a bird is singing!There’s never a choir so true, I know,To-day where the bells are ringing!
Somewhere I’ve heard that the deepest themeIs not the saddest and gravest;That God crowns life with a psalm of praiseWhere the truest note’s the bravest.So far away in the steepled townThere are singing lips that falter,And trembling knees that were better here,With us, on our wild earth-altar!
So, Jack, we will hold our Christmas Mass;For chancel—these woods in morning!Sweet Nature’s calling her acolytes,Never one his office scorning.And pure-eyed priests, clad in holy robe,Are here with the Father’s treasures!The wind comes in with an organ depthIn its soft and solemn measures.
The wide woods murmur responsive song,And the wild birds’ lifted throatsThe sub-strains catch, till they echo forthIn a warble of perfect notes!So let us find in the blended voiceOf the wind, of the earth and sea,The lovely hint of a fragment-songFrom the chant of eternity.
Thus we shall not miss what others seekWhere the Christmas bells are swinging.Our elfin sextons were out to-day,And Nature’s chimes are a-ringing!Our service of praise and prayer was heardFrom earth’s beautiful altars wide;God’s “Nunc Dimittis” has blest us, too,In a “Wallaby Christmastide.”