3-074-901 - The Print Collector/Heritage Images

The Path to Church, drawn by A. Hunt, 1883. 'The land is still. Poor Robin's notes all quiver For very cold: a plaint his piping seems. The bony trees too frozen are to quiver, And ice like rock oppresses all the streams. 'Tis Christmas morn. Last midnight every ringer From the chill belfry shook the powdered snow; He clanged the earliest bell - the first joy-bringer! - And now he clears, his apple-cheeks a-glow, The Path to Church...The moss is thicker on that roof, and greyer Those time-worn walls since first he crept within, A little lad, and heard the parson's prayer, And, dumb with mystic joy, the organ's din. Through boyhood, manhood, till this moment, daily, how many feet now still have walked that way? He thinks, perchance, and as the faint smiles fail he Stolidly trims, this bountiful dear day, The Path to Church...The comely maiden at the child's touch tarries, To look at Robin, clamorous for crumbs; His breast almost as ruddy as the berries That tell the little folk when Christmas comes. As, with those myriads who, from lowly lintel And lofty mansion, issue forth to-day, By thy sweet spirit, Christmas! made more gentle, These happy children take their quiet way - The Path to Church'. Byron Webber. From "Illustrated London News", 1883.