The holly round the Christmas hearth; A rainy cloud possess’d the earth, And sadly fell our Christmas-eve. At
our old pastimes in the hall
We
paused: the winds were in the beech:
Then
echo-like our voices rang;
We
ceased: a gentler feeling crept
Our
voices took a higher range;
‘Rapt
from the fickle and the frail
Rise,
happy morn, rise, holy morn,
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