ConsiderThe lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief—We are as they;Like them we fade away,As doth a leaf.ConsiderThe sparrows of the air, of small account:Our God doth viewWhether they fall or mount—He guards us too.ConsiderThe lilies, that do neither spin nor toil,Yet are most fair—What profits all this care,And all this coil?ConsiderThe birds, that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;God gives them food—Much more our Father seeksTo do us good.Christina G. Rossetti.
ConsiderThe lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief—We are as they;Like them we fade away,As doth a leaf.
ConsiderThe sparrows of the air, of small account:Our God doth viewWhether they fall or mount—He guards us too.
ConsiderThe lilies, that do neither spin nor toil,Yet are most fair—What profits all this care,And all this coil?
ConsiderThe birds, that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;God gives them food—Much more our Father seeksTo do us good.
Christina G. Rossetti.
Teach me, my God and King,In all things Thee to see,And what I do in anything,To do it as for Thee.* * * *All may of Thee partake:Nothing can be so meanWhich with this tincture (for Thy sake)Will not grow bright and clean.A servant with this clauseMakes drudgery divine:Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,Makes that and th' action fine.This is the famous stoneThat turneth all to gold;For that which God doth touch and ownCannot for less be told.George Herbert.
Teach me, my God and King,In all things Thee to see,And what I do in anything,To do it as for Thee.
* * * *
All may of Thee partake:Nothing can be so meanWhich with this tincture (for Thy sake)Will not grow bright and clean.
A servant with this clauseMakes drudgery divine:Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,Makes that and th' action fine.
This is the famous stoneThat turneth all to gold;For that which God doth touch and ownCannot for less be told.
George Herbert.
One by one the sands are flowing,One by one the moments fall;Some are coming, some are going;Do not strive to grasp them all.One by one thy duties wait thee—Let thy whole strength go to each,Let no future dreams elate thee,Learn thou first what these can teach.One by one (bright gifts from heaven)Joys are sent thee here below;Take them readily when given—Ready, too, to let them go.One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;Do not fear an armèd band;One will fade as others greet thee—Shadows passing through the land.Do not look at life's long sorrow;See how small each moment's pain;God will help thee for to-morrow,So each day begin again.Every hour that fleets so slowlyHas its task to do or bear;Luminous the crown, and holy,When each gem is set with care.Do not linger with regretting,Or for passing hours despond;Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,Look too eagerly beyond.Hours are golden links, God's token,Reaching heaven; but, one by one,Take them, lest the chain be brokenEre the pilgrimage be done.Adelaide Anne Procter.
One by one the sands are flowing,One by one the moments fall;Some are coming, some are going;Do not strive to grasp them all.
One by one thy duties wait thee—Let thy whole strength go to each,Let no future dreams elate thee,Learn thou first what these can teach.
One by one (bright gifts from heaven)Joys are sent thee here below;Take them readily when given—Ready, too, to let them go.
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;Do not fear an armèd band;One will fade as others greet thee—Shadows passing through the land.
Do not look at life's long sorrow;See how small each moment's pain;God will help thee for to-morrow,So each day begin again.
Every hour that fleets so slowlyHas its task to do or bear;Luminous the crown, and holy,When each gem is set with care.
Do not linger with regretting,Or for passing hours despond;Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,Look too eagerly beyond.
Hours are golden links, God's token,Reaching heaven; but, one by one,Take them, lest the chain be brokenEre the pilgrimage be done.
Adelaide Anne Procter.
For government, though high, and low, and lower,Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,Congreeing in a full and natural close,Like music.Therefore doth heaven divideThe state of man in divers functions,Setting endeavor in continual motion;To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,Obedience; for so work the honey-bees,Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teachThe art of order to a peopled kingdom:They have a king and officers of state,Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;Which pillage they with merry march bring homeTo the tent-royal of their emperor;Who, busied in his majesty, surveysThe singing masons building roofs of gold,The civil citizens kneading up the honey,The poor mechanic porters crowding inTheir heavy burdens at his narrow gate;The sad-eyed Justice, with his surly hum,Delivering o'er to executors paleThe lazy, yawning drone.William Shakespeare.From "King Henry V."
For government, though high, and low, and lower,Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,Congreeing in a full and natural close,Like music.Therefore doth heaven divideThe state of man in divers functions,Setting endeavor in continual motion;To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,Obedience; for so work the honey-bees,Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teachThe art of order to a peopled kingdom:They have a king and officers of state,Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;Which pillage they with merry march bring homeTo the tent-royal of their emperor;Who, busied in his majesty, surveysThe singing masons building roofs of gold,The civil citizens kneading up the honey,The poor mechanic porters crowding inTheir heavy burdens at his narrow gate;The sad-eyed Justice, with his surly hum,Delivering o'er to executors paleThe lazy, yawning drone.
William Shakespeare.
From "King Henry V."
Who would true valor seeLet him come hither!One here will constant be,Come wind, come weather:There's no discouragementShall make him once relentHis first-avow'd intentTo be a Pilgrim.Whoso beset him roundWith dismal stories,Do but themselves confound;His strength the more is.No lion can him fright;He'll with a giant fight;But he will have a rightTo be a Pilgrim.Nor enemy, nor fiend,Can daunt his spirit;He knows he at the endShall Life inherit:—Then, fancies, fly away;He'll not fear what men say;He'll labor, night and day,To be a Pilgrim.John Bunyan.
Who would true valor seeLet him come hither!One here will constant be,Come wind, come weather:There's no discouragementShall make him once relentHis first-avow'd intentTo be a Pilgrim.
Whoso beset him roundWith dismal stories,Do but themselves confound;His strength the more is.No lion can him fright;He'll with a giant fight;But he will have a rightTo be a Pilgrim.
Nor enemy, nor fiend,Can daunt his spirit;He knows he at the endShall Life inherit:—Then, fancies, fly away;He'll not fear what men say;He'll labor, night and day,To be a Pilgrim.
John Bunyan.
Be useful where thou livest, that they mayBoth want and wish thy pleasing presence still.——Find out men's wants and will,And meet them there. All worldly joys go lessTo the one joy of doing kindnesses.George Herbert.
Be useful where thou livest, that they mayBoth want and wish thy pleasing presence still.——Find out men's wants and will,And meet them there. All worldly joys go lessTo the one joy of doing kindnesses.
George Herbert.
When the Child of Nazareth was born, the sun, according to the Bosnian legend, "leaped in the heavens, and the stars around it danced. A peace came over mountain and forest. Even the rotten stump stood straight and healthy on the green hill-side. The grass was beflowered with open blossoms, incense sweet as myrrh pervaded upland and forest, birds sang on the mountain top, and all gave thanks to the great God."
It is naught but an old folk-tale, but it has truth hidden at its heart, for a strange, subtle force, a spirit of genial good-will, a new-born kindness, seem to animate child and man alike when the world pays its tribute to the "heaven-sent youngling," as the poet Drummond calls the infant Christ.
When the Three Wise Men rode from the East into the West on that "first, best Christmas night," they bore on their saddle-bows three caskets filled with gold and frankincense and myrrh, to be laid at the feet of the manger-cradled babe of Bethlehem. Beginning with this old, old journey, the spirit of giving crept into the world's heart. As the Magi came bearing gifts, so do we also; gifts that relieve want, gifts that are sweet and fragrant with friendship, gifts that breathe love, gifts that mean service, gifts inspired still by the star that shone over the City of David nearly two thousand years ago.
Then hang the green coronet of the Christmas-tree with glittering baubles and jewels of flame; heap offerings on its emerald branches; bring the Yule log to the firing; deck the house with holly and mistletoe,
"And all the bells on earth shall ringOn Christmas day in the morning."
"And all the bells on earth shall ringOn Christmas day in the morning."
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'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.
[24]From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
[24]From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:A Saviour there is born more old than years,Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid,A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.This is that night—no, day, grown great with bliss,In which the power of Satan broken is:In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,And cope of stars re-echoèd the same.William Drummond.
Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:A Saviour there is born more old than years,Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid,A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.This is that night—no, day, grown great with bliss,In which the power of Satan broken is:In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,And cope of stars re-echoèd the same.
William Drummond.
Like small curled feathers, white and soft,The little clouds went by,Across the moon, and past the stars,And down the western sky:In upland pastures, where the grassWith frosted dew was white,Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay,That first, best Christmas night.The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,With twist of thin, blue smoke,Only their fire's crackling flamesThe tender silence broke—Save when a young lamb raised his head,Or, when the night wind blew,A nesting bird would softly stir,Where dusky olives grew—With finger on her solemn lip,Night hushed the shadowy earth,And only stars and angels sawThe little Saviour's birth;Then came such flash of silver lightAcross the bending skies,The wondering shepherds woke, and hidTheir frightened, dazzled eyes!And all their gentle sleepy flockLooked up, then slept again,Nor knew the light that dimmed the starsBrought endless Peace to men—Nor even heard the gracious wordsThat down the ages ring—"The Christ is born! the Lord has come,Good-will on earth to bring!"Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields,Dumb with the world's great joy,The shepherds sought the white-walled town,Where lay the baby boy—And oh, the gladness of the world,The glory of the skies,Because the longed-for Christ looked upIn Mary's happy eyes!Margaret Deland.
Like small curled feathers, white and soft,The little clouds went by,Across the moon, and past the stars,And down the western sky:In upland pastures, where the grassWith frosted dew was white,Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay,That first, best Christmas night.
The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,With twist of thin, blue smoke,Only their fire's crackling flamesThe tender silence broke—Save when a young lamb raised his head,Or, when the night wind blew,A nesting bird would softly stir,Where dusky olives grew—
With finger on her solemn lip,Night hushed the shadowy earth,And only stars and angels sawThe little Saviour's birth;Then came such flash of silver lightAcross the bending skies,The wondering shepherds woke, and hidTheir frightened, dazzled eyes!
And all their gentle sleepy flockLooked up, then slept again,Nor knew the light that dimmed the starsBrought endless Peace to men—Nor even heard the gracious wordsThat down the ages ring—"The Christ is born! the Lord has come,Good-will on earth to bring!"
Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields,Dumb with the world's great joy,The shepherds sought the white-walled town,Where lay the baby boy—And oh, the gladness of the world,The glory of the skies,Because the longed-for Christ looked upIn Mary's happy eyes!
Margaret Deland.
Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,Where is the Babe but lately sprung?Lies he the lily-banks among?Or say, if this new Birth of oursSleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clearAll doubts, and manifest the where.Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seekHim in the morning's blushing cheek,Or search the beds of spices through,To find him out?Star.—No, this ye need not do;But only come and see Him rest,A princely babe, in's mother's breast.Robert Herrick.
Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,Where is the Babe but lately sprung?Lies he the lily-banks among?
Or say, if this new Birth of oursSleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clearAll doubts, and manifest the where.
Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seekHim in the morning's blushing cheek,Or search the beds of spices through,To find him out?
Star.—No, this ye need not do;But only come and see Him rest,A princely babe, in's mother's breast.
Robert Herrick.
Oh! lovely voices of the skyWhich hymned the Saviour's birth,Are ye not singing still on high,Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?To us yet speak the strainsWherewith, in time gone by,Ye blessed the Syrian swains,Oh! voices of the sky!Oh! clear and shining light, whose beamsThat hour Heaven's glory shed,Around the palms, and o'er the streams,And on the shepherd's head.Be near, through life and death,As in that holiest nightOf hope, and joy, and faith—Oh! clear and shining light!* * * *Felicia Hemans.
Oh! lovely voices of the skyWhich hymned the Saviour's birth,Are ye not singing still on high,Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?To us yet speak the strainsWherewith, in time gone by,Ye blessed the Syrian swains,Oh! voices of the sky!
Oh! clear and shining light, whose beamsThat hour Heaven's glory shed,Around the palms, and o'er the streams,And on the shepherd's head.Be near, through life and death,As in that holiest nightOf hope, and joy, and faith—Oh! clear and shining light!
* * * *
Felicia Hemans.
Behold a simple, tender Babe,In freezing winter night,In homely manger trembling lies;Alas! a piteous sight.The inns are full; no man will yieldThis little Pilgrim bed;But forced he is with silly beastsIn crib to shroud his head.Despise him not for lying there;First what he is inquire:An Orient pearl is often foundIn depth of dirty mire.Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,Nor beasts that by him feed;Weigh not his mother's poor attire,Nor Joseph's simple weed.This stable is a Prince's court,The crib his chair of state;The beasts are parcel of his pomp,The wooden dish his plate.The persons in that poor attireHis royal liveries wear;The Prince himself is come from heaven:This pomp is praisèd there.With joy approach, O Christian wight!Do homage to thy King;And highly praise this humble pomp,Which he from heaven doth bring.Robert Southwell.
Behold a simple, tender Babe,In freezing winter night,In homely manger trembling lies;Alas! a piteous sight.
The inns are full; no man will yieldThis little Pilgrim bed;But forced he is with silly beastsIn crib to shroud his head.
Despise him not for lying there;First what he is inquire:An Orient pearl is often foundIn depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,Nor beasts that by him feed;Weigh not his mother's poor attire,Nor Joseph's simple weed.This stable is a Prince's court,The crib his chair of state;The beasts are parcel of his pomp,The wooden dish his plate.
The persons in that poor attireHis royal liveries wear;The Prince himself is come from heaven:This pomp is praisèd there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight!Do homage to thy King;And highly praise this humble pomp,Which he from heaven doth bring.
Robert Southwell.
Three Kings came riding from far away,Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;Three Wise Men out of the East were they,And they travelled by night and they slept by day,For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.The star was so beautiful, large and clear,That all the other stars of the skyBecame a white mist in the atmosphere;And by this they knew that the coming was nearOf the Prince foretold in the prophecy.Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,Three caskets of gold with golden keys;Their robes were of crimson silk, with rowsOf bells and pomegranates and furbelows,Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.And so the Three Kings rode into the West,Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,With the people they met at the wayside wells."Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;For we in the East have seen his star,And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,To find and worship the King of the Jews."And the people answered, "You ask in vain;We know of no king but Herod the Great!"They thought the Wise Men were men insane,As they spurred their horses across the plainLike riders in haste who cannot wait.And when they came to Jerusalem,Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,And bring me tidings of this new king."So they rode away, and the star stood still,The only one in the gray of morn;Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,Right over Bethlehem on the hill,The city of David where Christ was born.And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,Through the silent street, till their horses turnedAnd neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,And only a light in the stable burned.And cradled there in the scented hay,In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,The little child in the manger lay,The Child that would be King one dayOf a kingdom not human, but divine.His mother, Mary of Nazareth,Sat watching beside his place of rest,Watching the even flow of his breath,For the joy of life and the terror of deathWere mingled together in her breast.They laid their offerings at his feet:The gold was their tribute to a King;The frankincense, with its odor sweet,Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;The myrrh for the body's burying.And the mother wondered and bowed her head,And sat as still as a statue of stone;Her heart was troubled yet comforted,Remembering what the angel had saidOf an endless reign and of David's throne.Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;But they went not back to Herod the Great,For they knew his malice and feared his hate,And returned to their homes by another way.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Three Kings came riding from far away,Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;Three Wise Men out of the East were they,And they travelled by night and they slept by day,For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.
The star was so beautiful, large and clear,That all the other stars of the skyBecame a white mist in the atmosphere;And by this they knew that the coming was nearOf the Prince foretold in the prophecy.
Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,Three caskets of gold with golden keys;Their robes were of crimson silk, with rowsOf bells and pomegranates and furbelows,Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.
And so the Three Kings rode into the West,Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,With the people they met at the wayside wells.
"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;For we in the East have seen his star,And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,To find and worship the King of the Jews."
And the people answered, "You ask in vain;We know of no king but Herod the Great!"They thought the Wise Men were men insane,As they spurred their horses across the plainLike riders in haste who cannot wait.
And when they came to Jerusalem,Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,And bring me tidings of this new king."
So they rode away, and the star stood still,The only one in the gray of morn;Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,Right over Bethlehem on the hill,The city of David where Christ was born.
And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,Through the silent street, till their horses turnedAnd neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,And only a light in the stable burned.
And cradled there in the scented hay,In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,The little child in the manger lay,The Child that would be King one dayOf a kingdom not human, but divine.
His mother, Mary of Nazareth,Sat watching beside his place of rest,Watching the even flow of his breath,For the joy of life and the terror of deathWere mingled together in her breast.
They laid their offerings at his feet:The gold was their tribute to a King;The frankincense, with its odor sweet,Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;The myrrh for the body's burying.
And the mother wondered and bowed her head,And sat as still as a statue of stone;Her heart was troubled yet comforted,Remembering what the angel had saidOf an endless reign and of David's throne.
Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;But they went not back to Herod the Great,For they knew his malice and feared his hate,And returned to their homes by another way.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
From out Cologne there came three kingsTo worship Jesus Christ, their King;To him they sought fine herbs they broughtAnd many a beauteous golden thing;They brought their gifts to Bethlehem townAnd in that manger set them down.Then spake the first king, and he said:"O Child most heavenly, bright and fair,I bring this crown to Bethlehem townFor Thee, and only Thee, to wear;So give a heavenly crown to meWhen I shall come at last to Thee."The second then: "I bring thee hereThis royal robe, O Child!" he cried;"Of silk 'tis spun and such an oneThere is not in the world beside!So in the day of doom requiteMe with a heavenly robe of white!"The third king gave his gift, and quoth:"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,And with these twain would I most fainAnoint the body of my King.So may their incense some time riseTo plead for me in yonder skies."Thus spake the three kings of CologneThat gave their gifts and went their way;And now kneel I in prayer hard-byThe cradle of the Child to-day;Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bringAs offering unto Christ my King.Yet have I brought a gift the ChildMay not despise, however small;For here I lay my heart to-day,And it is fun of love to all!Take Thou the poor, but loyal thing,My only tribute, Christ, my King.Eugene Field.
From out Cologne there came three kingsTo worship Jesus Christ, their King;To him they sought fine herbs they broughtAnd many a beauteous golden thing;They brought their gifts to Bethlehem townAnd in that manger set them down.
Then spake the first king, and he said:"O Child most heavenly, bright and fair,I bring this crown to Bethlehem townFor Thee, and only Thee, to wear;So give a heavenly crown to meWhen I shall come at last to Thee."
The second then: "I bring thee hereThis royal robe, O Child!" he cried;"Of silk 'tis spun and such an oneThere is not in the world beside!So in the day of doom requiteMe with a heavenly robe of white!"
The third king gave his gift, and quoth:"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,And with these twain would I most fainAnoint the body of my King.So may their incense some time riseTo plead for me in yonder skies."
Thus spake the three kings of CologneThat gave their gifts and went their way;And now kneel I in prayer hard-byThe cradle of the Child to-day;Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bringAs offering unto Christ my King.
Yet have I brought a gift the ChildMay not despise, however small;For here I lay my heart to-day,And it is fun of love to all!Take Thou the poor, but loyal thing,My only tribute, Christ, my King.
Eugene Field.
[25]From "With Trumpet and Drum" by Eugene Field Copyright, 1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
[25]From "With Trumpet and Drum" by Eugene Field Copyright, 1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
It was the calm and silent night!Seven hundred years and fifty-threeHad Rome been growing up to might,And now was queen of land and sea.No sound was heard of clashing wars—Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:Apollo, Pallas, Jove and MarsHeld undisturbed their ancient reign,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago.'Twas in the calm and silent night!The senator of haughty Rome,Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,From lordly revel rolling home;Triumphal arches, gleaming, swellHis breast with thoughts of boundless sway;What recked the Roman what befellA paltry province far away,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago?Within that province far awayWent plodding home a weary boor;A streak of light before him lay,Falling through a half-shut stable-doorAcross his path. He passed—for naughtTold what was going on within;How keen the stars, his only thought—The air how calm, and cold, and thin,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago!Oh, strange indifference! low and highDrowsed over common joys and cares;The earth was still—but knew not why,The world was listening, unawares.How calm a moment may precedeOne that shall thrill the world for ever!To that still moment, none would heed,Man's doom was linked no more to sever—In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago!It is the calm and solemn night!A thousand bells ring out, and throwTheir joyous peals abroad, and smiteThe darkness—charmed and holy now!The night that erst no name had worn,To it a happy name is given;For in that stable lay, new-born,The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago!Alfred Dommett.
It was the calm and silent night!Seven hundred years and fifty-threeHad Rome been growing up to might,And now was queen of land and sea.No sound was heard of clashing wars—Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:Apollo, Pallas, Jove and MarsHeld undisturbed their ancient reign,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago.
'Twas in the calm and silent night!The senator of haughty Rome,Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,From lordly revel rolling home;Triumphal arches, gleaming, swellHis breast with thoughts of boundless sway;What recked the Roman what befellA paltry province far away,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago?
Within that province far awayWent plodding home a weary boor;A streak of light before him lay,Falling through a half-shut stable-doorAcross his path. He passed—for naughtTold what was going on within;How keen the stars, his only thought—The air how calm, and cold, and thin,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago!
Oh, strange indifference! low and highDrowsed over common joys and cares;The earth was still—but knew not why,The world was listening, unawares.How calm a moment may precedeOne that shall thrill the world for ever!To that still moment, none would heed,Man's doom was linked no more to sever—In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago!
It is the calm and solemn night!A thousand bells ring out, and throwTheir joyous peals abroad, and smiteThe darkness—charmed and holy now!The night that erst no name had worn,To it a happy name is given;For in that stable lay, new-born,The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,In the solemn midnight,Centuries ago!
Alfred Dommett.
O little town of Bethlehem,How still we see thee lie!Above thy deep and dreamless sleepThe silent stars go by;Yet in thy dark streets shinethThe everlasting Light;The hopes and fears of all the yearsAre met in thee to-night.For Christ is born of Mary,And, gathered all above,While mortals sleep, the angels keepTheir watch of wondering love.O morning stars, togetherProclaim the holy birth!And praises sing to God the King,And peace to men on earth.How silently, how silently,The wondrous gift is given!So God imparts to human heartsThe blessings of His heaven.No ear may hear His coming,But in this world of sin,Where meek souls will receive Him still,The dear Christ enters in.O holy Child of Bethlehem!Descend to us, we pray;Cast out our sin, and enter in,Be born in us to-day.We hear the Christmas angelsThe great glad tidings tell;Oh, come to us, abide with us,Our Lord Emmanuel!Phillips Brooks.
O little town of Bethlehem,How still we see thee lie!Above thy deep and dreamless sleepThe silent stars go by;Yet in thy dark streets shinethThe everlasting Light;The hopes and fears of all the yearsAre met in thee to-night.
For Christ is born of Mary,And, gathered all above,While mortals sleep, the angels keepTheir watch of wondering love.O morning stars, togetherProclaim the holy birth!And praises sing to God the King,And peace to men on earth.
How silently, how silently,The wondrous gift is given!So God imparts to human heartsThe blessings of His heaven.No ear may hear His coming,But in this world of sin,Where meek souls will receive Him still,The dear Christ enters in.
O holy Child of Bethlehem!Descend to us, we pray;Cast out our sin, and enter in,Be born in us to-day.We hear the Christmas angelsThe great glad tidings tell;Oh, come to us, abide with us,Our Lord Emmanuel!
Phillips Brooks.
While shepherds watched their flocks by night,All seated on the ground,The angel of the Lord came down,And glory shone around."Fear not," said he, for mighty dreadHad seized their troubled mind;"Glad tidings of great joy I bringTo you and all mankind."To you, in David's town, this dayIs born, of David's line,The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord,And this shall be the sign:"The heavenly babe you there shall findTo human view displayed,All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands,And in a manger laid."Thus spake the seraph; and forthwithAppeared a shining throngOf angels, praising God, who thusAddressed their joyful song:"All glory be to God on high,And to the earth be peace;Good will henceforth from Heaven to menBegin and never cease."Nahum Tate.
While shepherds watched their flocks by night,All seated on the ground,The angel of the Lord came down,And glory shone around.
"Fear not," said he, for mighty dreadHad seized their troubled mind;"Glad tidings of great joy I bringTo you and all mankind.
"To you, in David's town, this dayIs born, of David's line,The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord,And this shall be the sign:
"The heavenly babe you there shall findTo human view displayed,All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands,And in a manger laid."
Thus spake the seraph; and forthwithAppeared a shining throngOf angels, praising God, who thusAddressed their joyful song:
"All glory be to God on high,And to the earth be peace;Good will henceforth from Heaven to menBegin and never cease."
Nahum Tate.
As Joseph was a-walking,He heard an angel sing,"This night shall be the birthnightOf Christ our heavenly King."His birth-bed shall be neitherIn housen nor in hall,Nor in the place of paradise,But in the oxen's stall."He neither shall be rockèdIn silver nor in gold,But in the wooden mangerThat lieth in the mould."He neither shall be washenWith white wine nor with red,But with the fair spring waterThat on you shall be shed."He neither shall be clothèdIn purple nor in pall,But in the fair, white linenThat usen babies all."As Joseph was a-walking,Thus did the angel sing,And Mary's son at midnightWas born to be our King.Then be you glad, good people,At this time of the year;And light you up your candles,For His star it shineth clear.Old English.
As Joseph was a-walking,He heard an angel sing,"This night shall be the birthnightOf Christ our heavenly King.
"His birth-bed shall be neitherIn housen nor in hall,Nor in the place of paradise,But in the oxen's stall.
"He neither shall be rockèdIn silver nor in gold,But in the wooden mangerThat lieth in the mould.
"He neither shall be washenWith white wine nor with red,But with the fair spring waterThat on you shall be shed.
"He neither shall be clothèdIn purple nor in pall,But in the fair, white linenThat usen babies all."
As Joseph was a-walking,Thus did the angel sing,And Mary's son at midnightWas born to be our King.
Then be you glad, good people,At this time of the year;And light you up your candles,For His star it shineth clear.
Old English.
Now he who knows old Christmas,He knows a carle of worth;For he is as good a fellowAs any upon earth.He comes warm cloaked and coated,And buttoned up to the chin,And soon as he comes a-nigh the doorWe open and let him in.We know that he will not fail us,So we sweep the hearth up clean;We set him in the old arm-chair,And a cushion whereon to lean.And with sprigs of holly and ivyWe make the house look gay,Just out of an old regard to him,For it was his ancient way.* * * *He must be a rich old fellow:What money he gives away!There is not a lord in EnglandCould equal him any day.Good luck unto old Christmas,And long life, let us sing,For he doth more good unto the poorThan many a crownèd king!Mary Howitt.
Now he who knows old Christmas,He knows a carle of worth;For he is as good a fellowAs any upon earth.
He comes warm cloaked and coated,And buttoned up to the chin,And soon as he comes a-nigh the doorWe open and let him in.
We know that he will not fail us,So we sweep the hearth up clean;We set him in the old arm-chair,And a cushion whereon to lean.
And with sprigs of holly and ivyWe make the house look gay,Just out of an old regard to him,For it was his ancient way.
* * * *
He must be a rich old fellow:What money he gives away!There is not a lord in EnglandCould equal him any day.
Good luck unto old Christmas,And long life, let us sing,For he doth more good unto the poorThan many a crownèd king!
Mary Howitt.
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.
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.
Outlanders, whence come ye last?The snow in the street and the wind on the door.Through what green seas and great have ye past?Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.From far away, O masters mine,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.We come to bear you goodly wine,Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.From far away we come to you,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.To tell of great tidings strange and true,Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.News, news of the Trinity,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.And Mary and Joseph from over the sea!Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.For as we wandered far and wide,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.What hap do you deem there should us betide!Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.Under a bent when the night was deep,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.There lay three shepherds tending their sheep.Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor."O ye shepherds, what have ye seen,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.To slay your sorrow, and heal your teen?"Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor."In an ox-stall this night we saw,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.A babe and a maid without a flaw.Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor."There was an old man there beside,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.His hair was white and his hood was wide.Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor."And as we gazed this thing upon,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.Those twain knelt down to the Little One,Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor."And a marvellous song we straight did hear,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.That slew our sorrow and healed our care."Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.News of a fair and marvellous thing,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing!Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.William Morris.
Outlanders, whence come ye last?The snow in the street and the wind on the door.Through what green seas and great have ye past?Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
From far away, O masters mine,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.We come to bear you goodly wine,Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
From far away we come to you,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.To tell of great tidings strange and true,Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
News, news of the Trinity,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.And Mary and Joseph from over the sea!Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
For as we wandered far and wide,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.What hap do you deem there should us betide!Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
Under a bent when the night was deep,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.There lay three shepherds tending their sheep.Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"O ye shepherds, what have ye seen,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.To slay your sorrow, and heal your teen?"Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"In an ox-stall this night we saw,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.A babe and a maid without a flaw.Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"There was an old man there beside,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.His hair was white and his hood was wide.Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"And as we gazed this thing upon,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.Those twain knelt down to the Little One,Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
"And a marvellous song we straight did hear,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.That slew our sorrow and healed our care."Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
News of a fair and marvellous thing,The snow in the street and the wind on the door.Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing!Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.
William Morris.