I watch him as he skims along,
  Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
  Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
He has no thought of any wrong;
  He scans me with a fearless eye. 
Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong,
  The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night
  When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright! 
  To what warm shelter canst thou fly? 
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky: 
  For are we not God’s children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?
                         Celia Thaxter.

O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM

O little town of Bethlehem,
  How still we see thee lie! 
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
  The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
  The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
  Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,
  And, gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
  Their watch of wondering love. 
O morning stars, together
  Proclaim the holy birth! 
And praises sing to God the King,
  And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,
  The wondrous gift is given! 
So God imparts to human hearts
  The blessings of His heaven. 
No ear may hear His coming,
  But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
  The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem! 
  Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in,
  Be born in us to-day. 
We hear the Christmas angels
  The great glad tidings tell;
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
  Our Lord Emmanuel!
                       Phillips Brooks.

THE SANDMAN

The rosy clouds float overhead,
  The sun is going down,
And now the sandman’s gentle tread
  Comes stealing through the town.

“White sand, white sand,” he softly cries,
And, as he shakes his hand,
Straightway there lies on babies’ eyes
His gift of shining sand. 
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he
goes through the town.

    From sunny beaches far away,
      Yes, in another land,
    He gathers up at break of day
      His store of shining sand. 
    No tempests beat that shore remote,
      No ships may sail that way;
    His little boat alone may float
      Within that lovely bay. 
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he
     goes through the town.