







REV. C. T. BROOKS. 
“And now I'll let thee see, 
Here in the open air, 
Thou stranger-child, thy tree,— 
And none so bright and fair 
In all the rooms can be.” 
Then pointed with his hand 
Child Jesus to the sky :— 
A mighty tree did stand, 
Crowded with stars, so high, 
Its boughs the wide heaven spanned, 
How far, and yet how near, 
The sparkling arches seem ! 
Poor Child! it did appear 
Like to a fairy dream, 
All was so calm and clear. 
There,—in the shining sky,— 
There stood his Christmas-tree ; 
And little angels nigh 
Reached down so lovingly, 
And drew him up on high, 
And homeward now he goes, 
The little stranger-child, 
With Jesus to repose — 
The Saviour meek and mild,— 
And soon forgets his woes. 


