Thomas Hardy looks back on old religious certainties with a wistfulness for belief which may transcend the nativity story.

THE OXEN

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock

'Now they are all on their knees,'

An elder said, as we sat in a flock,

By the embers in fireside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures, where

They dwelt in their strawy pen,

Nor did it occur to one of us there

To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave

In these years! Yet, I feel

If someone said, on Christmas Eve,

'Come; see the oxen kneel

'In the lonely barton by yonder coomb,

Our childhood used to know,'

I should go with him in the gloom,

Hoping it might be so.