CHRISTMAS is here;Winds whistle shrill,Icy and chill,Little care we:Little we fearWeather without,Sheltered aboutThe mahogany tree.Once on the boughs,Birds of rare plumeSang, in its bloom;Night-birds are we:Here we carouseSinging, like them,Perched round the stemOf the jolly old tree.Here let us sport,Boys, as we sit;Laughter and witFlashing so free.Life is but short—When we are gone,Let them sing on,Round the old tree.Evenings we knew,Happy as this;Faces we miss,Pleasant to see.Kind hearts and true,Gentle and just,Peace to your dust!We sing round the tree.Care, like a dun,Lurks at the gate:Let the dog wait:Happy we'll be!Drink every one;Pile up the coals,Fill the red bowls,Round the old tree!Drain we the cup.—Friend, art afraid?Spirits are laidIn the Red Sea.Mantle it up;Empty it yet;Let us forget,Round the old tree.Sorrows, begone!Life and its ills,Duns and their bills,Bid we to flee.Come with the dawn,Blue-devil sprite,Leave us to-night,Round the old tree.William Makepeace Thackeray
CHRISTMAS is here;Winds whistle shrill,Icy and chill,Little care we:Little we fearWeather without,Sheltered aboutThe mahogany tree.Once on the boughs,Birds of rare plumeSang, in its bloom;Night-birds are we:Here we carouseSinging, like them,Perched round the stemOf the jolly old tree.Here let us sport,Boys, as we sit;Laughter and witFlashing so free.Life is but short—When we are gone,Let them sing on,Round the old tree.Evenings we knew,Happy as this;Faces we miss,Pleasant to see.Kind hearts and true,Gentle and just,Peace to your dust!We sing round the tree.Care, like a dun,Lurks at the gate:Let the dog wait:Happy we'll be!Drink every one;Pile up the coals,Fill the red bowls,Round the old tree!Drain we the cup.—Friend, art afraid?Spirits are laidIn the Red Sea.Mantle it up;Empty it yet;Let us forget,Round the old tree.Sorrows, begone!Life and its ills,Duns and their bills,Bid we to flee.Come with the dawn,Blue-devil sprite,Leave us to-night,Round the old tree.William Makepeace Thackeray
CHRISTMAS is here;Winds whistle shrill,Icy and chill,Little care we:Little we fearWeather without,Sheltered aboutThe mahogany tree.
CHRISTMAS is here;
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we:
Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The mahogany tree.
Once on the boughs,Birds of rare plumeSang, in its bloom;Night-birds are we:Here we carouseSinging, like them,Perched round the stemOf the jolly old tree.
Once on the boughs,
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we:
Here we carouse
Singing, like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.
Here let us sport,Boys, as we sit;Laughter and witFlashing so free.Life is but short—When we are gone,Let them sing on,Round the old tree.
Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.
Life is but short—
When we are gone,
Let them sing on,
Round the old tree.
Evenings we knew,Happy as this;Faces we miss,Pleasant to see.Kind hearts and true,Gentle and just,Peace to your dust!We sing round the tree.
Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;
Faces we miss,
Pleasant to see.
Kind hearts and true,
Gentle and just,
Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.
Care, like a dun,Lurks at the gate:Let the dog wait:Happy we'll be!Drink every one;Pile up the coals,Fill the red bowls,Round the old tree!
Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait:
Happy we'll be!
Drink every one;
Pile up the coals,
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree!
Drain we the cup.—Friend, art afraid?Spirits are laidIn the Red Sea.Mantle it up;Empty it yet;Let us forget,Round the old tree.
Drain we the cup.—
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;
Let us forget,
Round the old tree.
Sorrows, begone!Life and its ills,Duns and their bills,Bid we to flee.Come with the dawn,Blue-devil sprite,Leave us to-night,Round the old tree.William Makepeace Thackeray
Sorrows, begone!
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Blue-devil sprite,
Leave us to-night,
Round the old tree.
William Makepeace Thackeray
The Holly and the Ivy
THE Holly and the Ivy,Now both are full well grown;Of all the trees that spring in wood,The Holly bears the crown.The Holly bears a blossom,As white as lily flow'r;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,To be our sweet Saviour,To be our sweet Saviour.The Holly bears a berry,As red as any blood;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,To do poor sinners good.The Holly bears a prickle,As sharp as any thorn;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,On Christmas day in the morn,On Christmas day in the morn.The Holly bears a bark,As bitter as any gall;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,For to redeem us all.The Holly and the Ivy,Now both are full well grown;Of all the trees that spring in wood,The Holly bears the crown,The Holly bears the crown.Old English Song
THE Holly and the Ivy,Now both are full well grown;Of all the trees that spring in wood,The Holly bears the crown.The Holly bears a blossom,As white as lily flow'r;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,To be our sweet Saviour,To be our sweet Saviour.The Holly bears a berry,As red as any blood;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,To do poor sinners good.The Holly bears a prickle,As sharp as any thorn;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,On Christmas day in the morn,On Christmas day in the morn.The Holly bears a bark,As bitter as any gall;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,For to redeem us all.The Holly and the Ivy,Now both are full well grown;Of all the trees that spring in wood,The Holly bears the crown,The Holly bears the crown.Old English Song
THE Holly and the Ivy,Now both are full well grown;Of all the trees that spring in wood,The Holly bears the crown.The Holly bears a blossom,As white as lily flow'r;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,To be our sweet Saviour,To be our sweet Saviour.
THE Holly and the Ivy,
Now both are full well grown;
Of all the trees that spring in wood,
The Holly bears the crown.
The Holly bears a blossom,
As white as lily flow'r;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
To be our sweet Saviour,
To be our sweet Saviour.
The Holly bears a berry,As red as any blood;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,To do poor sinners good.The Holly bears a prickle,As sharp as any thorn;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,On Christmas day in the morn,On Christmas day in the morn.
The Holly bears a berry,
As red as any blood;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
To do poor sinners good.
The Holly bears a prickle,
As sharp as any thorn;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
On Christmas day in the morn,
On Christmas day in the morn.
The Holly bears a bark,As bitter as any gall;And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,For to redeem us all.The Holly and the Ivy,Now both are full well grown;Of all the trees that spring in wood,The Holly bears the crown,The Holly bears the crown.Old English Song
The Holly bears a bark,
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
For to redeem us all.
The Holly and the Ivy,
Now both are full well grown;
Of all the trees that spring in wood,
The Holly bears the crown,
The Holly bears the crown.
Old English Song
Ballade of Christmas Ghosts
BETWEEN the moonlight and the fire,In winter twilights long ago,What ghosts we raised for your desire,To make your merry blood run slow;How old, how grave, how wise we grow,No Christmas ghost can make us chill,Save those that troop in mournful row,The ghosts we all can raise at will!The beasts can talk in barn and byre,On Christmas Eve, old legends know,As year by year the years retire;We men fall silent then, I trow;Such sights hath memory to show,Such voices from the silence thrill,Such shapes return with Christmas snow—The ghosts we all can raise at will.Oh, children of the village choir,Your carols on the midnight throw;Oh, bright across the mist and mire,Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas, glow!Beat back the dread, beat down the woe,Let's cheerily descend the hill;Be welcome all, to come or go,The ghosts we all can raise at will!
BETWEEN the moonlight and the fire,In winter twilights long ago,What ghosts we raised for your desire,To make your merry blood run slow;How old, how grave, how wise we grow,No Christmas ghost can make us chill,Save those that troop in mournful row,The ghosts we all can raise at will!The beasts can talk in barn and byre,On Christmas Eve, old legends know,As year by year the years retire;We men fall silent then, I trow;Such sights hath memory to show,Such voices from the silence thrill,Such shapes return with Christmas snow—The ghosts we all can raise at will.Oh, children of the village choir,Your carols on the midnight throw;Oh, bright across the mist and mire,Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas, glow!Beat back the dread, beat down the woe,Let's cheerily descend the hill;Be welcome all, to come or go,The ghosts we all can raise at will!
BETWEEN the moonlight and the fire,In winter twilights long ago,What ghosts we raised for your desire,To make your merry blood run slow;How old, how grave, how wise we grow,No Christmas ghost can make us chill,Save those that troop in mournful row,The ghosts we all can raise at will!
BETWEEN the moonlight and the fire,
In winter twilights long ago,
What ghosts we raised for your desire,
To make your merry blood run slow;
How old, how grave, how wise we grow,
No Christmas ghost can make us chill,
Save those that troop in mournful row,
The ghosts we all can raise at will!
The beasts can talk in barn and byre,On Christmas Eve, old legends know,As year by year the years retire;We men fall silent then, I trow;Such sights hath memory to show,Such voices from the silence thrill,Such shapes return with Christmas snow—The ghosts we all can raise at will.
The beasts can talk in barn and byre,
On Christmas Eve, old legends know,
As year by year the years retire;
We men fall silent then, I trow;
Such sights hath memory to show,
Such voices from the silence thrill,
Such shapes return with Christmas snow—
The ghosts we all can raise at will.
Oh, children of the village choir,Your carols on the midnight throw;Oh, bright across the mist and mire,Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas, glow!Beat back the dread, beat down the woe,Let's cheerily descend the hill;Be welcome all, to come or go,The ghosts we all can raise at will!
Oh, children of the village choir,
Your carols on the midnight throw;
Oh, bright across the mist and mire,
Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas, glow!
Beat back the dread, beat down the woe,
Let's cheerily descend the hill;
Be welcome all, to come or go,
The ghosts we all can raise at will!
Envoy
Friend, sursum corda, soon and slowWe part like guests, who've joyed their fill;Forget them not, nor mourn them so,The ghosts we all can raise at will.Andrew Lang
Friend, sursum corda, soon and slowWe part like guests, who've joyed their fill;Forget them not, nor mourn them so,The ghosts we all can raise at will.Andrew Lang
Friend, sursum corda, soon and slowWe part like guests, who've joyed their fill;Forget them not, nor mourn them so,The ghosts we all can raise at will.Andrew Lang
Friend, sursum corda, soon and slow
We part like guests, who've joyed their fill;
Forget them not, nor mourn them so,
The ghosts we all can raise at will.
Andrew Lang
By permission of Longmans, Green, & Co., London, andCharles Scribner's Sons, New York.
Christmas Treasures
ICOUNT my treasures o'er with care,—The little toy my darling knew,A little sock of faded hue,A little lock of golden hair.Long years ago this holy time,My little one—my all to me—Sat robed in white upon my kneeAnd heard the merry Christmas chime."Tell me, my little golden-head,If Santa Claus should come to-night,What shall he bring my baby bright,—What treasure for my boy?" I said.And then he named this little toy,While in his round and mournful eyesThere came a look of sweet surprise,That spake his quiet, trustful joy.And as he lisped his evening prayerHe asked the boon with childish grace,Then, toddling to the chimney place,He hung this little stocking there.That night, while lengthening shadows crept,I saw the white-winged angels comeWith singing to our lowly homeAnd kiss my darling as he slept.They must have heard his little prayer,For in the morn, with rapturous face,He toddled to the chimney-place,And found this little treasure there.They came again one Christmas-tide,—That angel host, so fair and white!And singing all that glorious night,They lured my darling from my side.A little sock, a little toy,A little lock of golden hair,The Christmas music on the air,A watching for my baby boy!But if again that angel trainAnd golden-head come back for me,To bear me to Eternity,My watching will not be in vain!
ICOUNT my treasures o'er with care,—The little toy my darling knew,A little sock of faded hue,A little lock of golden hair.Long years ago this holy time,My little one—my all to me—Sat robed in white upon my kneeAnd heard the merry Christmas chime."Tell me, my little golden-head,If Santa Claus should come to-night,What shall he bring my baby bright,—What treasure for my boy?" I said.And then he named this little toy,While in his round and mournful eyesThere came a look of sweet surprise,That spake his quiet, trustful joy.And as he lisped his evening prayerHe asked the boon with childish grace,Then, toddling to the chimney place,He hung this little stocking there.That night, while lengthening shadows crept,I saw the white-winged angels comeWith singing to our lowly homeAnd kiss my darling as he slept.They must have heard his little prayer,For in the morn, with rapturous face,He toddled to the chimney-place,And found this little treasure there.They came again one Christmas-tide,—That angel host, so fair and white!And singing all that glorious night,They lured my darling from my side.A little sock, a little toy,A little lock of golden hair,The Christmas music on the air,A watching for my baby boy!But if again that angel trainAnd golden-head come back for me,To bear me to Eternity,My watching will not be in vain!
ICOUNT my treasures o'er with care,—The little toy my darling knew,A little sock of faded hue,A little lock of golden hair.
ICOUNT my treasures o'er with care,—
The little toy my darling knew,
A little sock of faded hue,
A little lock of golden hair.
Long years ago this holy time,My little one—my all to me—Sat robed in white upon my kneeAnd heard the merry Christmas chime.
Long years ago this holy time,
My little one—my all to me—
Sat robed in white upon my knee
And heard the merry Christmas chime.
"Tell me, my little golden-head,If Santa Claus should come to-night,What shall he bring my baby bright,—What treasure for my boy?" I said.
"Tell me, my little golden-head,
If Santa Claus should come to-night,
What shall he bring my baby bright,—
What treasure for my boy?" I said.
And then he named this little toy,While in his round and mournful eyesThere came a look of sweet surprise,That spake his quiet, trustful joy.
And then he named this little toy,
While in his round and mournful eyes
There came a look of sweet surprise,
That spake his quiet, trustful joy.
And as he lisped his evening prayerHe asked the boon with childish grace,Then, toddling to the chimney place,He hung this little stocking there.
And as he lisped his evening prayer
He asked the boon with childish grace,
Then, toddling to the chimney place,
He hung this little stocking there.
That night, while lengthening shadows crept,I saw the white-winged angels comeWith singing to our lowly homeAnd kiss my darling as he slept.
That night, while lengthening shadows crept,
I saw the white-winged angels come
With singing to our lowly home
And kiss my darling as he slept.
They must have heard his little prayer,For in the morn, with rapturous face,He toddled to the chimney-place,And found this little treasure there.
They must have heard his little prayer,
For in the morn, with rapturous face,
He toddled to the chimney-place,
And found this little treasure there.
They came again one Christmas-tide,—That angel host, so fair and white!And singing all that glorious night,They lured my darling from my side.
They came again one Christmas-tide,—
That angel host, so fair and white!
And singing all that glorious night,
They lured my darling from my side.
A little sock, a little toy,A little lock of golden hair,The Christmas music on the air,A watching for my baby boy!
A little sock, a little toy,
A little lock of golden hair,
The Christmas music on the air,
A watching for my baby boy!
But if again that angel trainAnd golden-head come back for me,To bear me to Eternity,My watching will not be in vain!
But if again that angel train
And golden-head come back for me,
To bear me to Eternity,
My watching will not be in vain!
FromA Little Book of Western Verse; copyright, 1889, by Eugene Field; published by Charles Scribner's Sons
Wassailer's Song
WASSAIL! wassail! all over the town,Our toast it is white, and 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 e'er he did see,—With my wassailing 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 sould 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
WASSAIL! wassail! all over the town,Our toast it is white, and 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 e'er he did see,—With my wassailing 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 sould 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
WASSAIL! wassail! all over the town,Our toast it is white, and our ale it is brown;Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee.
WASSAIL! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white, and 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 e'er he did see,—With my wassailing bowl 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 e'er he did see,—
With my wassailing 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 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.
Here's to our cow, and to her long tail,
God send our master us never may fail
Of 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.
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 sould 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
Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best;
I hope your sould 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