Josephine Preston Peabody
Included by permission of the author.
Loveliest dawn of gold and roseSteals across undrifted snows;In brown, rustling oak leaves stirSquirrel, nuthatch, woodpecker;Brief their matins, but, by noon,All the sunny wood’s a-tune:Jays, forgetting their harsh cries,Pipe a spring note, clear and true;Wheel on angel wings of blue,Trumpeters of Paradise;Then the tiniest feathered thing,All a-flutter, tail and wing,Gives himself to caroling:“Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee!Jesulino, hail to thee!Lowliest baby born to-day,Pillowed on a wisp of hay;King no less of sky and earth,And singing sea;Jesu! Jesu! most and least!For the sweetness of thy birthEvery little bird and beast,Wind and wave and forest tree,Praises God exceedingly,Exceedingly.”
Loveliest dawn of gold and roseSteals across undrifted snows;In brown, rustling oak leaves stirSquirrel, nuthatch, woodpecker;Brief their matins, but, by noon,All the sunny wood’s a-tune:Jays, forgetting their harsh cries,Pipe a spring note, clear and true;Wheel on angel wings of blue,Trumpeters of Paradise;Then the tiniest feathered thing,All a-flutter, tail and wing,Gives himself to caroling:“Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee!Jesulino, hail to thee!Lowliest baby born to-day,Pillowed on a wisp of hay;King no less of sky and earth,And singing sea;Jesu! Jesu! most and least!For the sweetness of thy birthEvery little bird and beast,Wind and wave and forest tree,Praises God exceedingly,Exceedingly.”
Loveliest dawn of gold and roseSteals across undrifted snows;In brown, rustling oak leaves stirSquirrel, nuthatch, woodpecker;Brief their matins, but, by noon,All the sunny wood’s a-tune:Jays, forgetting their harsh cries,Pipe a spring note, clear and true;Wheel on angel wings of blue,Trumpeters of Paradise;Then the tiniest feathered thing,All a-flutter, tail and wing,Gives himself to caroling:
“Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee!Jesulino, hail to thee!Lowliest baby born to-day,Pillowed on a wisp of hay;King no less of sky and earth,And singing sea;Jesu! Jesu! most and least!For the sweetness of thy birthEvery little bird and beast,Wind and wave and forest tree,Praises God exceedingly,Exceedingly.”
Sophie Jewett
From “The Poems of Sophie Jewett.” Included by permission of the Thomas Y. Crowell Company.
The beautiful mother is bendingLow where her baby lies,Helpless and frail, for her tending;But she knows the glorious eyes.The mother smiles and rejoicesWhile the baby laughs in the hay;She listens to heavenly voices:“The child shall be king, one day.”O dear little Christ in the manger,Let me make merry with thee.O King, in my hour of danger,Wilt thou be strong for me?
The beautiful mother is bendingLow where her baby lies,Helpless and frail, for her tending;But she knows the glorious eyes.The mother smiles and rejoicesWhile the baby laughs in the hay;She listens to heavenly voices:“The child shall be king, one day.”O dear little Christ in the manger,Let me make merry with thee.O King, in my hour of danger,Wilt thou be strong for me?
The beautiful mother is bendingLow where her baby lies,Helpless and frail, for her tending;But she knows the glorious eyes.
The mother smiles and rejoicesWhile the baby laughs in the hay;She listens to heavenly voices:“The child shall be king, one day.”
O dear little Christ in the manger,Let me make merry with thee.O King, in my hour of danger,Wilt thou be strong for me?
Adapted from the Latin of Jacopone da Todiby Sophie Jewett
Adapted from the Latin of Jacopone da Todiby Sophie Jewett
From “The Poems of Sophie Jewett.” Included by permission of the Thomas Y. Crowell Company.
Hushed are the pigeons cooing low,On dusty rafters of the loft;And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,Sleep on the fragrant hay below.Dim shadows in the corner hide;The glimmering lantern’s rays are shedWhere one young lamb just lifts his head,Then huddles ’gainst his mother’s side.Strange silence tingles in the air;Through the half-open door a barOf light from one low hanging starTouches a baby’s radiant hair—No sound—the mother, kneeling, laysHer cheek against the little face.Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!’Tis yet in silence that she prays!Ages of silence end to-night;Then to the long-expectant earthGlad angels come to greet His birthIn burst of music, love, and light!
Hushed are the pigeons cooing low,On dusty rafters of the loft;And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,Sleep on the fragrant hay below.Dim shadows in the corner hide;The glimmering lantern’s rays are shedWhere one young lamb just lifts his head,Then huddles ’gainst his mother’s side.Strange silence tingles in the air;Through the half-open door a barOf light from one low hanging starTouches a baby’s radiant hair—No sound—the mother, kneeling, laysHer cheek against the little face.Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!’Tis yet in silence that she prays!Ages of silence end to-night;Then to the long-expectant earthGlad angels come to greet His birthIn burst of music, love, and light!
Hushed are the pigeons cooing low,On dusty rafters of the loft;And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,Sleep on the fragrant hay below.
Dim shadows in the corner hide;The glimmering lantern’s rays are shedWhere one young lamb just lifts his head,Then huddles ’gainst his mother’s side.
Strange silence tingles in the air;Through the half-open door a barOf light from one low hanging starTouches a baby’s radiant hair—
No sound—the mother, kneeling, laysHer cheek against the little face.Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!’Tis yet in silence that she prays!
Ages of silence end to-night;Then to the long-expectant earthGlad angels come to greet His birthIn burst of music, love, and light!
Margaret Deland
Included by permission of the author.
Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella!Bring a torch, to the cradle run!It is Jesus, good folk of the village;Christ is born, and Mary’s calling;Ah! Ah! beautiful is the mother;Ah! Ah! beautiful is her son.It is wrong when the Child is sleeping,It is wrong to talk so loud;Silence, all, as you gather around,Lest your noise should waken Jesus:Hush! Hush! see how fast He slumbers;Hush! Hush! see how fast He sleeps.Who goes there a-knocking so loudly?Who goes there a-knocking like that?Ope your doors, I have here on a plateSome very good cakes which I am bringing:Toc! Toc! quickly your doors now open;Toc! Toc! come let us make good cheer.Softly to the little stable,Softly for a moment come;Look and see how charming is Jesus,How He is white, His cheeks are rosy.Hush! Hush! see how the Child is sleeping;Hush! Hush! see how He smiles in dreams.
Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella!Bring a torch, to the cradle run!It is Jesus, good folk of the village;Christ is born, and Mary’s calling;Ah! Ah! beautiful is the mother;Ah! Ah! beautiful is her son.It is wrong when the Child is sleeping,It is wrong to talk so loud;Silence, all, as you gather around,Lest your noise should waken Jesus:Hush! Hush! see how fast He slumbers;Hush! Hush! see how fast He sleeps.Who goes there a-knocking so loudly?Who goes there a-knocking like that?Ope your doors, I have here on a plateSome very good cakes which I am bringing:Toc! Toc! quickly your doors now open;Toc! Toc! come let us make good cheer.Softly to the little stable,Softly for a moment come;Look and see how charming is Jesus,How He is white, His cheeks are rosy.Hush! Hush! see how the Child is sleeping;Hush! Hush! see how He smiles in dreams.
Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella!Bring a torch, to the cradle run!It is Jesus, good folk of the village;Christ is born, and Mary’s calling;Ah! Ah! beautiful is the mother;Ah! Ah! beautiful is her son.
It is wrong when the Child is sleeping,It is wrong to talk so loud;Silence, all, as you gather around,Lest your noise should waken Jesus:Hush! Hush! see how fast He slumbers;Hush! Hush! see how fast He sleeps.
Who goes there a-knocking so loudly?Who goes there a-knocking like that?Ope your doors, I have here on a plateSome very good cakes which I am bringing:Toc! Toc! quickly your doors now open;Toc! Toc! come let us make good cheer.
Softly to the little stable,Softly for a moment come;Look and see how charming is Jesus,How He is white, His cheeks are rosy.Hush! Hush! see how the Child is sleeping;Hush! Hush! see how He smiles in dreams.
Provençal Noël of Nicholas Saboly
The little Jesus came to town;The wind blew up, the wind blew down;Out in the street the wind was bold.Now who would house Him from the cold?Then opened wide a stable doorFain were the rushes on the floor;The Ox put forth a horned head:“Come, little Lord, here make Thy bed.”Uprose the Sheep were folded near:“Thou Lamb of God, come, enter here.”He entered there to rush and reed,Who was the Lamb of God indeed.The little Jesus came to town;With ox and sheep He laid Him down.Peace to the byre, peace to the fold,For that they housed Him from the cold.
The little Jesus came to town;The wind blew up, the wind blew down;Out in the street the wind was bold.Now who would house Him from the cold?Then opened wide a stable doorFain were the rushes on the floor;The Ox put forth a horned head:“Come, little Lord, here make Thy bed.”Uprose the Sheep were folded near:“Thou Lamb of God, come, enter here.”He entered there to rush and reed,Who was the Lamb of God indeed.The little Jesus came to town;With ox and sheep He laid Him down.Peace to the byre, peace to the fold,For that they housed Him from the cold.
The little Jesus came to town;The wind blew up, the wind blew down;Out in the street the wind was bold.Now who would house Him from the cold?
Then opened wide a stable doorFain were the rushes on the floor;The Ox put forth a horned head:“Come, little Lord, here make Thy bed.”
Uprose the Sheep were folded near:“Thou Lamb of God, come, enter here.”He entered there to rush and reed,Who was the Lamb of God indeed.
The little Jesus came to town;With ox and sheep He laid Him down.Peace to the byre, peace to the fold,For that they housed Him from the cold.
Lisette Woodworth Reese
Included by permission of Thomas B. Mosher.
As Joseph was a-walkingHe heard an angel sing:—“This night there shall be bornOur heavenly King.“He neither shall be bornIn housen, nor in hall,Nor in the place of Paradise,But in an ox’s stall.“He neither shall be clothédIn purple nor in pall;But in the fair, white linen,That usen babies all.“He neither shall be rockédIn silver nor in gold,But in a wooden cradleThat rocks on the mould.“He neither shall be christenedIn white wine nor in red,But with fair spring waterWith which we were christenéd.”Mary took her baby,She dressed Him so sweet,She laid Him in a manger,All there for to sleep.As she stood over HimShe heard angels sing,“O bless our dear Saviour,Our heavenly King.”
As Joseph was a-walkingHe heard an angel sing:—“This night there shall be bornOur heavenly King.“He neither shall be bornIn housen, nor in hall,Nor in the place of Paradise,But in an ox’s stall.“He neither shall be clothédIn purple nor in pall;But in the fair, white linen,That usen babies all.“He neither shall be rockédIn silver nor in gold,But in a wooden cradleThat rocks on the mould.“He neither shall be christenedIn white wine nor in red,But with fair spring waterWith which we were christenéd.”Mary took her baby,She dressed Him so sweet,She laid Him in a manger,All there for to sleep.As she stood over HimShe heard angels sing,“O bless our dear Saviour,Our heavenly King.”
As Joseph was a-walkingHe heard an angel sing:—“This night there shall be bornOur heavenly King.
“He neither shall be bornIn housen, nor in hall,Nor in the place of Paradise,But in an ox’s stall.
“He neither shall be clothédIn purple nor in pall;But in the fair, white linen,That usen babies all.
“He neither shall be rockédIn silver nor in gold,But in a wooden cradleThat rocks on the mould.
“He neither shall be christenedIn white wine nor in red,But with fair spring waterWith which we were christenéd.”
Mary took her baby,She dressed Him so sweet,She laid Him in a manger,All there for to sleep.
As she stood over HimShe heard angels sing,“O bless our dear Saviour,Our heavenly King.”
From the Cherry Tree Carol
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay—The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay—The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay—The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
Martin Luther
In the bleak mid-winterFrosty wind made moan,Earth stood hard as iron,Water like a stone;Snow had fallen, snow on snow,Snow on snow,In the bleak mid-winterLong ago.Our God, Heaven cannot hold HimNor earth sustain;Heaven and earth shall flee awayWhen He comes to reign.In the bleak mid-winterA stable-place sufficedThe Lord God AlmightyJesus Christ.Angels and archangelsMay have gathered there,Cherubim and seraphimThronged the air;But only His MotherIn her maiden blissWorshipped her BelovedWith a kiss.What can I give Him,Poor as I am?If I were a shepherdI would bring a lamb,If I were a Wise Man,I would do my part,—Yet what I can I give Him,Give my heart.
In the bleak mid-winterFrosty wind made moan,Earth stood hard as iron,Water like a stone;Snow had fallen, snow on snow,Snow on snow,In the bleak mid-winterLong ago.Our God, Heaven cannot hold HimNor earth sustain;Heaven and earth shall flee awayWhen He comes to reign.In the bleak mid-winterA stable-place sufficedThe Lord God AlmightyJesus Christ.Angels and archangelsMay have gathered there,Cherubim and seraphimThronged the air;But only His MotherIn her maiden blissWorshipped her BelovedWith a kiss.What can I give Him,Poor as I am?If I were a shepherdI would bring a lamb,If I were a Wise Man,I would do my part,—Yet what I can I give Him,Give my heart.
In the bleak mid-winterFrosty wind made moan,Earth stood hard as iron,Water like a stone;Snow had fallen, snow on snow,Snow on snow,In the bleak mid-winterLong ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold HimNor earth sustain;Heaven and earth shall flee awayWhen He comes to reign.In the bleak mid-winterA stable-place sufficedThe Lord God AlmightyJesus Christ.
Angels and archangelsMay have gathered there,Cherubim and seraphimThronged the air;But only His MotherIn her maiden blissWorshipped her BelovedWith a kiss.
What can I give Him,Poor as I am?If I were a shepherdI would bring a lamb,If I were a Wise Man,I would do my part,—Yet what I can I give Him,Give my heart.
Christina G. Rossetti
When the herds were watchingIn the midnight chill,Came a spotless lambkinFrom the heavenly hill.Snow was on the mountains,And the wind was cold,When from God’s own gardenDropped a rose of gold.When ’twas bitter winter,Houseless and forlornIn a star-lit stableChrist the Babe was born.Welcome, heavenly lambkin;Welcome, golden rose;Alleluia, Baby,In the swaddling clothes!
When the herds were watchingIn the midnight chill,Came a spotless lambkinFrom the heavenly hill.Snow was on the mountains,And the wind was cold,When from God’s own gardenDropped a rose of gold.When ’twas bitter winter,Houseless and forlornIn a star-lit stableChrist the Babe was born.Welcome, heavenly lambkin;Welcome, golden rose;Alleluia, Baby,In the swaddling clothes!
When the herds were watchingIn the midnight chill,Came a spotless lambkinFrom the heavenly hill.
Snow was on the mountains,And the wind was cold,When from God’s own gardenDropped a rose of gold.
When ’twas bitter winter,Houseless and forlornIn a star-lit stableChrist the Babe was born.
Welcome, heavenly lambkin;Welcome, golden rose;Alleluia, Baby,In the swaddling clothes!
William Canton
Go, pretty child, and bear this flowerUnto thy little Saviour;And tell Him, by that bud now blown,He is the Rose of Sharon known.When thou hast said so, stick it thereUpon His bib, or stomacher;And tell Him, for good handsel[A]too,That thou hast brought a whistle new,Made of a clean straight oaten reed,To charm his cries at time of need.Tell Him, for coral thou hast none,But if thou hadst, He should have one;But poor thou art, and known to beEven as moneyless as He.Lastly, if thou canst win a kissFrom those mellifluous lips of His,Then never take a second on,To spoil the first impression.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flowerUnto thy little Saviour;And tell Him, by that bud now blown,He is the Rose of Sharon known.When thou hast said so, stick it thereUpon His bib, or stomacher;And tell Him, for good handsel[A]too,That thou hast brought a whistle new,Made of a clean straight oaten reed,To charm his cries at time of need.Tell Him, for coral thou hast none,But if thou hadst, He should have one;But poor thou art, and known to beEven as moneyless as He.Lastly, if thou canst win a kissFrom those mellifluous lips of His,Then never take a second on,To spoil the first impression.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flowerUnto thy little Saviour;And tell Him, by that bud now blown,He is the Rose of Sharon known.When thou hast said so, stick it thereUpon His bib, or stomacher;And tell Him, for good handsel[A]too,That thou hast brought a whistle new,Made of a clean straight oaten reed,To charm his cries at time of need.Tell Him, for coral thou hast none,But if thou hadst, He should have one;But poor thou art, and known to beEven as moneyless as He.Lastly, if thou canst win a kissFrom those mellifluous lips of His,Then never take a second on,To spoil the first impression.
Robert Herrick
[A]handsel: a gift for good luck.
[A]handsel: a gift for good luck.
There’s a song in the air!There’s a star in the sky!There’s a mother’s deep prayerAnd a baby’s low cry!And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing,For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.There’s a tumult of joyO’er the wonderful birth,For the virgin’s sweet boyIs the Lord of the earth,Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing,For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.In the light of that starLie the ages impearled;And that song from afarHas swept over the world.Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful singIn the homes of the nations that Jesus is King.We rejoice in the light,And we echo the songThat comes down through the nightFrom the heavenly throng.Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,And we greet in His cradle our Saviour and King.
There’s a song in the air!There’s a star in the sky!There’s a mother’s deep prayerAnd a baby’s low cry!And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing,For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.There’s a tumult of joyO’er the wonderful birth,For the virgin’s sweet boyIs the Lord of the earth,Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing,For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.In the light of that starLie the ages impearled;And that song from afarHas swept over the world.Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful singIn the homes of the nations that Jesus is King.We rejoice in the light,And we echo the songThat comes down through the nightFrom the heavenly throng.Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,And we greet in His cradle our Saviour and King.
There’s a song in the air!There’s a star in the sky!There’s a mother’s deep prayerAnd a baby’s low cry!And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing,For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.
There’s a tumult of joyO’er the wonderful birth,For the virgin’s sweet boyIs the Lord of the earth,Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing,For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.
In the light of that starLie the ages impearled;And that song from afarHas swept over the world.Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful singIn the homes of the nations that Jesus is King.
We rejoice in the light,And we echo the songThat comes down through the nightFrom the heavenly throng.Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,And we greet in His cradle our Saviour and King.
Josiah Gilbert Holland
There are in ParadiseSouls neither great nor wise,Yet souls who wear no lessThe crown of faithfulness.My master bade me watch the flock by night;My duty was to stay. I do not knowWhat thing my comrades saw in that great light,I did not heed the words that bade them go,I know not were they maddened or afraid;I only know I stayed.The hillside seemed on fire; I felt the sweepOf wings above my head; I ran to seeIf any danger threatened these my sheep.What though I found them folded quietly,What though my brother wept and plucked my sleeve,They were not mine to leave.Thieves in the wood and wolves upon the hill,My duty was to stay. Strange though it be,I had no thought to hold my mates, no willTo bid them wait and keep the watch with me.I had not heard that summons they obeyed;I only know I stayed.Perchance they will return upon the dawnWith word of Bethlehem and why they went.I only know that watching here alone,I know a strange content.I have not failed that trust upon me laid;I ask no more—I stayed.
There are in ParadiseSouls neither great nor wise,Yet souls who wear no lessThe crown of faithfulness.My master bade me watch the flock by night;My duty was to stay. I do not knowWhat thing my comrades saw in that great light,I did not heed the words that bade them go,I know not were they maddened or afraid;I only know I stayed.The hillside seemed on fire; I felt the sweepOf wings above my head; I ran to seeIf any danger threatened these my sheep.What though I found them folded quietly,What though my brother wept and plucked my sleeve,They were not mine to leave.Thieves in the wood and wolves upon the hill,My duty was to stay. Strange though it be,I had no thought to hold my mates, no willTo bid them wait and keep the watch with me.I had not heard that summons they obeyed;I only know I stayed.Perchance they will return upon the dawnWith word of Bethlehem and why they went.I only know that watching here alone,I know a strange content.I have not failed that trust upon me laid;I ask no more—I stayed.
There are in ParadiseSouls neither great nor wise,Yet souls who wear no lessThe crown of faithfulness.
My master bade me watch the flock by night;My duty was to stay. I do not knowWhat thing my comrades saw in that great light,I did not heed the words that bade them go,I know not were they maddened or afraid;I only know I stayed.
The hillside seemed on fire; I felt the sweepOf wings above my head; I ran to seeIf any danger threatened these my sheep.What though I found them folded quietly,What though my brother wept and plucked my sleeve,They were not mine to leave.
Thieves in the wood and wolves upon the hill,My duty was to stay. Strange though it be,I had no thought to hold my mates, no willTo bid them wait and keep the watch with me.I had not heard that summons they obeyed;I only know I stayed.
Perchance they will return upon the dawnWith word of Bethlehem and why they went.I only know that watching here alone,I know a strange content.I have not failed that trust upon me laid;I ask no more—I stayed.
Theodosia Garrison
Included by permission of the author and of The Century Company.
Good King Wenceslas looked outOn the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep, and crisp, and even.Brightly shone the moon that nightThough the frost was cruel,When a poor man came in sight,Gath’ring winter fuel.“Hither, page, and stand by me,If thou know’st it, telling.Yonder peasant, who is he?Where and what his dwelling?”“Sire, he lives a good league hence,Underneath the mountain;Right against the forest fence,By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”“Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,Bring me pine-logs hither;Thou and I shall see him dine,When we bear them thither.”Page and monarch, forth they went,Forth they went together;Through the rude wind’s wild lamentAnd the bitter weather.“Sire, the night is darker now,And the wind blows stronger;Fails my heart, I know not how,I can go no longer.”“Mark my footsteps, good my page;Tread thou in them boldly:Thou shalt find the winter rageFreeze thy blood less coldly.”In his master’s steps he trod,Where the snow lay dinted;Heat was in the very sodWhere the saint has printed.Therefore, Christian men, be sure,Wealth or rank possessing,Ye who now will bless the poor,Shall yourselves find blessing.
Good King Wenceslas looked outOn the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep, and crisp, and even.Brightly shone the moon that nightThough the frost was cruel,When a poor man came in sight,Gath’ring winter fuel.“Hither, page, and stand by me,If thou know’st it, telling.Yonder peasant, who is he?Where and what his dwelling?”“Sire, he lives a good league hence,Underneath the mountain;Right against the forest fence,By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”“Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,Bring me pine-logs hither;Thou and I shall see him dine,When we bear them thither.”Page and monarch, forth they went,Forth they went together;Through the rude wind’s wild lamentAnd the bitter weather.“Sire, the night is darker now,And the wind blows stronger;Fails my heart, I know not how,I can go no longer.”“Mark my footsteps, good my page;Tread thou in them boldly:Thou shalt find the winter rageFreeze thy blood less coldly.”In his master’s steps he trod,Where the snow lay dinted;Heat was in the very sodWhere the saint has printed.Therefore, Christian men, be sure,Wealth or rank possessing,Ye who now will bless the poor,Shall yourselves find blessing.
Good King Wenceslas looked outOn the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep, and crisp, and even.
Brightly shone the moon that nightThough the frost was cruel,When a poor man came in sight,Gath’ring winter fuel.
“Hither, page, and stand by me,If thou know’st it, telling.Yonder peasant, who is he?Where and what his dwelling?”
“Sire, he lives a good league hence,Underneath the mountain;Right against the forest fence,By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”
“Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,Bring me pine-logs hither;Thou and I shall see him dine,When we bear them thither.”
Page and monarch, forth they went,Forth they went together;Through the rude wind’s wild lamentAnd the bitter weather.
“Sire, the night is darker now,And the wind blows stronger;Fails my heart, I know not how,I can go no longer.”
“Mark my footsteps, good my page;Tread thou in them boldly:Thou shalt find the winter rageFreeze thy blood less coldly.”
In his master’s steps he trod,Where the snow lay dinted;Heat was in the very sodWhere the saint has printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,Wealth or rank possessing,Ye who now will bless the poor,Shall yourselves find blessing.
Translated from the Latin by J. M. Neale
We Three Kings of Orient are,Bearing gifts we traverse afar,Field and fountain,Moor and mountain,Following yonder star.ChorusO Star of wonder, Star of night,Star with Royal Beauty bright,Westward leading.Still proceeding,Guide us to Thy perfect Light.Gaspard: Born a king on Bethlehem plain,Gold I bring to crown Him again;King forever,Ceasing neverOver us all to reign.Chorus: O Star of wonder....Melchior: Frankincense to offer have I,Incense owns a deity nigh;Prayer and praisingAll men raising,Worship Him God on high.Chorus: O Star of wonder....Balthazar: Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfumeBreathes a life of gathering gloom;Sorrowing, sighing,Bleeding, dying,Sealed in a stone-cold tomb.Chorus: O Star of wonder....Glorious now behold Him arise,King and God, and Sacrifice;Heav’n sings Allelujah:Allelujah,The earth replies.
We Three Kings of Orient are,Bearing gifts we traverse afar,Field and fountain,Moor and mountain,Following yonder star.ChorusO Star of wonder, Star of night,Star with Royal Beauty bright,Westward leading.Still proceeding,Guide us to Thy perfect Light.Gaspard: Born a king on Bethlehem plain,Gold I bring to crown Him again;King forever,Ceasing neverOver us all to reign.Chorus: O Star of wonder....Melchior: Frankincense to offer have I,Incense owns a deity nigh;Prayer and praisingAll men raising,Worship Him God on high.Chorus: O Star of wonder....Balthazar: Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfumeBreathes a life of gathering gloom;Sorrowing, sighing,Bleeding, dying,Sealed in a stone-cold tomb.Chorus: O Star of wonder....Glorious now behold Him arise,King and God, and Sacrifice;Heav’n sings Allelujah:Allelujah,The earth replies.
We Three Kings of Orient are,Bearing gifts we traverse afar,Field and fountain,Moor and mountain,Following yonder star.
ChorusO Star of wonder, Star of night,Star with Royal Beauty bright,Westward leading.Still proceeding,Guide us to Thy perfect Light.
Gaspard: Born a king on Bethlehem plain,Gold I bring to crown Him again;King forever,Ceasing neverOver us all to reign.
Chorus: O Star of wonder....
Melchior: Frankincense to offer have I,Incense owns a deity nigh;Prayer and praisingAll men raising,Worship Him God on high.
Chorus: O Star of wonder....
Balthazar: Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfumeBreathes a life of gathering gloom;Sorrowing, sighing,Bleeding, dying,Sealed in a stone-cold tomb.
Chorus: O Star of wonder....
Glorious now behold Him arise,King and God, and Sacrifice;Heav’n sings Allelujah:Allelujah,The earth replies.
J. H. Hopkins, Jr.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.The dawn rose red o’er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed mornThe Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.The dawn rose red o’er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed mornThe Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.The dawn rose red o’er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed mornThe Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
Dinah Maria Mulock
Here we come a-wassailingAmong the leaves so green,Here we come a-wanderingSo fair to be seen.Love and joy come to youAnd to your wassail too,And God bless you, and send youA happy New Year.We are not daily beggarsThat beg from door to door,But we are neighbours’ childrenThat you have seen before.Good Master and good Mistress,As you sit by the fire,Pray think of us poor childrenWho are wandering in the mire.Bring us out a tableAnd spread it with a cloth;Bring us out a mouldy cheeseAnd some of your Christmas loaf.God bless the master of this house,Likewise the mistress too;And all the little childrenThat round the table go.
Here we come a-wassailingAmong the leaves so green,Here we come a-wanderingSo fair to be seen.Love and joy come to youAnd to your wassail too,And God bless you, and send youA happy New Year.We are not daily beggarsThat beg from door to door,But we are neighbours’ childrenThat you have seen before.Good Master and good Mistress,As you sit by the fire,Pray think of us poor childrenWho are wandering in the mire.Bring us out a tableAnd spread it with a cloth;Bring us out a mouldy cheeseAnd some of your Christmas loaf.God bless the master of this house,Likewise the mistress too;And all the little childrenThat round the table go.
Here we come a-wassailingAmong the leaves so green,Here we come a-wanderingSo fair to be seen.
Love and joy come to youAnd to your wassail too,And God bless you, and send youA happy New Year.
We are not daily beggarsThat beg from door to door,But we are neighbours’ childrenThat you have seen before.
Good Master and good Mistress,As you sit by the fire,Pray think of us poor childrenWho are wandering in the mire.
Bring us out a tableAnd spread it with a cloth;Bring us out a mouldy cheeseAnd some of your Christmas loaf.
God bless the master of this house,Likewise the mistress too;And all the little childrenThat round the table go.
Old Devonshire Carol
Included by permission of The H. W. Gray Company.
Wassail! Wassail! all over the town,Our bread it is white, our ale it is brown;Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee.Here’s to our horse, and to his right ear,God send master a happy new year;A happy new year as ever he did see,—With my wassail bowl I drink to thee.Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye,God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see,—With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail,God send our master us never may failOf a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near,And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear.Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!Sing hey, O, maids! come trole back the pin,And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best;I hope your souls in heaven will rest;But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,Then, down fall butler, and bowl and all.
Wassail! Wassail! all over the town,Our bread it is white, our ale it is brown;Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee.Here’s to our horse, and to his right ear,God send master a happy new year;A happy new year as ever he did see,—With my wassail bowl I drink to thee.Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye,God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see,—With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail,God send our master us never may failOf a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near,And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear.Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!Sing hey, O, maids! come trole back the pin,And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best;I hope your souls in heaven will rest;But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,Then, down fall butler, and bowl and all.
Wassail! Wassail! all over the town,Our bread it is white, our ale it is brown;Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee.
Here’s to our horse, and to his right ear,God send master a happy new year;A happy new year as ever he did see,—With my wassail bowl I drink to thee.
Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye,God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see,—With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.
Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail,God send our master us never may failOf a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near,And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear.
Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!Sing hey, O, maids! come trole back the pin,And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.
Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best;I hope your souls in heaven will rest;But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,Then, down fall butler, and bowl and all.
Robert Southwell
Holly and Ivy made a great party,Who should have the masteryIn lands where they go.Then spake Holly, “I am fierce and jolly,I will have the masteryIn lands where we go.”Then spake Ivy, “I am loud and proud,And I will have the masteryIn lands where we go.”Then spake Holly, and bent him down on his knee,“I pray thee, gentle Ivy,Essay me no villanyIn the lands where we go.”
Holly and Ivy made a great party,Who should have the masteryIn lands where they go.Then spake Holly, “I am fierce and jolly,I will have the masteryIn lands where we go.”Then spake Ivy, “I am loud and proud,And I will have the masteryIn lands where we go.”Then spake Holly, and bent him down on his knee,“I pray thee, gentle Ivy,Essay me no villanyIn the lands where we go.”
Holly and Ivy made a great party,Who should have the masteryIn lands where they go.
Then spake Holly, “I am fierce and jolly,I will have the masteryIn lands where we go.”
Then spake Ivy, “I am loud and proud,And I will have the masteryIn lands where we go.”
Then spake Holly, and bent him down on his knee,“I pray thee, gentle Ivy,Essay me no villanyIn the lands where we go.”
Fifteenth Century Carol
Come, bring with a noise,My merry, merry boys,The Christmas log to the firing,While my good dame, sheBids ye all be free,And drink to your heart’s desiring.With the last year’s brandLight the new block, andFor good success in his spending,On your psalteries play,That sweet luck mayCome while the log is a-tending.Drink now the strong beer,Cut the white loaf here,The while the meat is a-shredding;For the rare mince-pieAnd the plums stand byTo fill the paste that’s a-kneading.
Come, bring with a noise,My merry, merry boys,The Christmas log to the firing,While my good dame, sheBids ye all be free,And drink to your heart’s desiring.With the last year’s brandLight the new block, andFor good success in his spending,On your psalteries play,That sweet luck mayCome while the log is a-tending.Drink now the strong beer,Cut the white loaf here,The while the meat is a-shredding;For the rare mince-pieAnd the plums stand byTo fill the paste that’s a-kneading.
Come, bring with a noise,My merry, merry boys,The Christmas log to the firing,While my good dame, sheBids ye all be free,And drink to your heart’s desiring.
With the last year’s brandLight the new block, andFor good success in his spending,On your psalteries play,That sweet luck mayCome while the log is a-tending.
Drink now the strong beer,Cut the white loaf here,The while the meat is a-shredding;For the rare mince-pieAnd the plums stand byTo fill the paste that’s a-kneading.
Robert Herrick
Come, guard this night the Christmas-pie,That the thief, though ne’er so sly,With his flesh-hooks, don’t come nighTo catch it.From him, who alone sits there,Having his eyes still in his ear,And a deal of nightly fearTo watch it.
Come, guard this night the Christmas-pie,That the thief, though ne’er so sly,With his flesh-hooks, don’t come nighTo catch it.From him, who alone sits there,Having his eyes still in his ear,And a deal of nightly fearTo watch it.
Come, guard this night the Christmas-pie,That the thief, though ne’er so sly,With his flesh-hooks, don’t come nighTo catch it.
From him, who alone sits there,Having his eyes still in his ear,And a deal of nightly fearTo watch it.
Wash your hands, or else the fireWill not tend to your desire;Unwashed hands, ye maidens, know,Dead the fire, though ye blow.
Wash your hands, or else the fireWill not tend to your desire;Unwashed hands, ye maidens, know,Dead the fire, though ye blow.
Wash your hands, or else the fireWill not tend to your desire;Unwashed hands, ye maidens, know,Dead the fire, though ye blow.
Robert Herrick
So, now is come our joyful feast,Let every soul be jolly!Each room with ivy leaves is drest,And every post with holly.Though some churls at our mirth repine,Round your brows let garlands twine,Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,And let us all be merry!Now all our neighbours’ chimneys smoke,And Christmas logs are burning;Their ovens with baked meats do choke,And all their spits are turning.Without the door let sorrow lie,And if for cold it hap to die,We’ll bury it in Christmas pie,And evermore be merry!
So, now is come our joyful feast,Let every soul be jolly!Each room with ivy leaves is drest,And every post with holly.Though some churls at our mirth repine,Round your brows let garlands twine,Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,And let us all be merry!Now all our neighbours’ chimneys smoke,And Christmas logs are burning;Their ovens with baked meats do choke,And all their spits are turning.Without the door let sorrow lie,And if for cold it hap to die,We’ll bury it in Christmas pie,And evermore be merry!
So, now is come our joyful feast,Let every soul be jolly!Each room with ivy leaves is drest,And every post with holly.Though some churls at our mirth repine,Round your brows let garlands twine,Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,And let us all be merry!
Now all our neighbours’ chimneys smoke,And Christmas logs are burning;Their ovens with baked meats do choke,And all their spits are turning.Without the door let sorrow lie,And if for cold it hap to die,We’ll bury it in Christmas pie,And evermore be merry!
George Wither