AFFECTION'S TOKEN.

BY J. ROBINS.

The infant when it lisps its pray'r,
And goes to slumber on its bed,
Unconscious of all worldly care,

Which yet has fall'n not on its head;
When its last words, "Good night," are spoken,
Looks for a kiss-affection's token.

The youth when going from its home,

To trudge through learning's thorny way,
Regrets the parting hour when come,
But hails the look'd-for holiday;
Tho' separation's pang is broken
By some kind gift-affection's token.

To manhood grown-a lover now-
Affection takes another turn;

To some lov'd fair he breathes his vow,
And ardent passions in him burn:
The altar proves the truths he's spoken,
The ring becomes affection's token.

A husband now, and parent soon,
He feels a father's tender care;
A lisping infant-nature's boon-

Claims, with his wife, an equal share;
To both the words of love are spoken,
Seal'd with a kiss-affection's token.

Time wears away, and years pass by,
And grey hairs crown both man and wife ;
But age has charms, when children try
To smooth their parent's path thro' life:

By this the ills of life are broken,
'Tis then, in truth, affection's token.

And when at last death calls us hence,
To realms of pure and endless bliss,
The charms life then can best dispense,
Is in the consciousness of this:
That nought against us can be spoken,
Oh then death seems affection's token.

Thus then through life we find its charm
Is centered in affection's tie;

The heart when cold and sear'd 'twill warm, "Twill banish too the sigh:

Life's path is thorny, rough, and broken,
Divested of affection's token.

Hark! the herald angels sing,
Ye nations all rejoice!
Tidings glad to you we bring,

Raise high your tuneful voice.

The Saviour of mankind this day,
Descending from above,

Deigns to assume his mortal sway,
In mercy, peace, and love.

An infant from a virgin sprung,
Of royal David's race,

In Bethlehem; and every tongue
Shall consecrate the place.

A manger is his lowly bed,

In swaddling-clothes he's bound;
But angels hover o'er his head,
And glory shines around.

The shepherds in the gloom of night,
As on the ground they lay,
Are startled by a vision bright,
Which summons them away.

The eastern sages from afar,
The heavenly babe t'adore
Come, guided by a brilliant star,
And grateful tribute pour.

The wise, the wonderful, his name
The Prince of Peace, the Lord,
The Sun of Righteousness proclaim,
Oh, listen to his word.

His love so infinite, so great,

He suffered to redeem

From sin and death man's fallen state;

His mercy so supreme.

Then let us bend with suppliant knee,
And loud hosannahs sing,

To Him that was, is, and shall be,

Our Saviour and our King.

N. R.

The festival of the nativity of our Saviour, is of great antiquity, and was first introduced in the Catholic church about the year 500. It received its name of Christmas Day, from the Latin Christi Missa, the mass of Christ.

The Vigil, or the eve of Christmas, was formerly one of devotion, after which, a log of wood, called the Yule-clog, was put upon the fire, and kept burning during the following day, which was celebrated with much mirth and festivity.

A contemporary says, "Christmas comes but once a year, and this simple fact is in itself calculated to increase both the means of enjoying, and the disposition to enjoy its accustomed festivities. But, after all that has been said of the smoking sirloin, the rich plum pudding, and the tempting mince pie, (and these are doubtless the most prominent characteristics of the season, that have outlived the days of our happy forefathers), the real

enjoyment of Christmas is derived from a higher source than the mere gratification of the animal appetites. What can a rational being enjoy, in this, or in any other season, without the social intercourse of friendship? Without this, to engage and expand the better feelings of the heart, what would be the pleasure amid all the gaieties of the Christmas week, of Twelfth Day, or of New Year's eve? This is the time at which we expect to meet our friends, and are not disappointed. We pay our annual visits, and receive our annual visitors. This constitutes the joy, and the happiness of the party assembled by the evening fireside.”

As carols were formerly much sung at this season, the following one may not be unacceptable:

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

BY J. F. CHORLEY.

Old Winter hath his clarion blown,
O'er field and leafless wood,

And with a silver mantle strown

The forest and the flood:

And from his icy urn he pours

The winds that stir the struggling deep,

The wreathing snow, the plenteous showers;
And round about the castle towers,

His mournful breezes sweep.

Yet though the storms with blustering wrath,
Drive forth the dying year,

See on the Winter's frosty path

A jocund form appear:

And with the tabor and the horn,

His brows with yew and holly bound,
Lo! Christmas comes-his eldest born-
With voice that laugheth care to scorn,
And scatters mirth around.

Lo! Christmas comes! that household word,

To English bosoms dear;

And memory, by its magic stirred,

Retraces many a year,

To days when masque and pageant flung
Above its snows their gorgeous dress;
When Shakspeare's lyre immortal rung,
And Essex wooed, and Sidney sung
The times of good Queen Bess.

Lo! Christmas comes! and joy and mirth
Their hearty revels hold;

And gladness hovers o'er the hearth,
Though all without be cold.

They come, who long have absent been
In distant town or foreign land;
While berries red, and branches green,
Suspended from the roof are seen
Above the happy band.

And in the Baron's stately hall

I hear the harpers play;

For thither crowd the peasants all

In holiday array:

Nor Lords nor Ladies scorn to night,

To mingle with the meaner throng,
And while they dance till morning light,
Smiles on their glee each aged wight,
And wishes he were young.

And some there be, who sit apart,
And wile the hours of night,

With tales that curdle every heart,
Of goblin and of sprite :

How through the ancient tapestried room
At eve a shrieking spectre glides,
And in the midnight's thickest gloom,
The mail-clad Templer leaves his tomb,
And through the church-yard strides.