The Project Gutenberg eBook, Christmas, by Various, Edited by Robert Haven
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Title: Christmas
Its Origin, Celebration and Significance as Related in Prose and Verse
Author: Various
Editor: Robert Haven Schauffler
Release Date: July 25, 2006 [eBook #18908]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTMAS***
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OUR AMERICAN HOLIDAYS
Edited by
ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER
AND OTHERS
A series of anthologies for the use of students and teachers in schools
and colleges; consisting of the best verse, plays, stories, addresses,
special articles, orations, etc. Applicable to the holidays listed as
follows:
| CHRISTMAS | December 25th |
| DEMOCRACY DAYS |
| EASTER | March or April |
| GOOD WILL DAYS |
| HALLOWE'EN | October 31st |
| INDEPENDENCE DAY | July 4th |
| LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY | February 12th |
| THE MAGIC OF BOOKS | Book Week |
| THE MAGIC OF MUSIC | Music Week |
| MEMORIAL DAY | May 30th |
| MOTHER'S DAY | Second Sunday in May |
| PAN-AMERICAN DAY | April 14th |
| PEACE DAYS |
| ROOSEVELT DAY | October 27th |
| THANKSGIVING | Last Thursday in November |
| WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY | February 22nd |
OUR AMERICAN HOLIDAYS
CHRISTMAS
ITS ORIGIN, CELEBRATION
AND SIGNIFICANCE AS RELATED
IN PROSE AND VERSE
EDITED BY
ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1968
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
CONTENTS
NOTE
The Publishers desire to acknowledge the kindness of Messrs. Charles
Scribner's Sons; Houghton, Mifflin and Company; Little, Brown and
Company; Dodd, Mead and Company; Bobbs-Merrill Company and others, who
have granted us permission to reproduce selections from works bearing
their copyright.
PREFACE
Christmas is our most important holiday, and its literature is
correspondingly rich. Yet until now no adequate bundle of Christmas
treasures in poetry and prose has found its way into the library of
Santa Claus.
While this book brings to children of all ages, in school and at home,
the best lyrics, carols, essays, plays and stories of Christmas, its
scope is yet wider. For the Introduction gives a rapid view of the
holiday's origin and development, its relation to cognate pagan
festivals, the customs and symbols of its observance in different lands,
and the significance and spirit of the day. This Introduction endeavors
to be as suggestive as possible to parents and teachers who are
personally conducted and introduced to the host of writers learned and
quaint, human and pedantic, humorous and brilliant and profound, who
have dealt technically with this fascinating subject.
INTRODUCTION
It was the habit of him whose birthday we celebrate to take what was
good in men and remould it to higher uses. And so it is peculiarly
fitting that the anniversary of Christmas, when it was first celebrated
in the second century of our era should have taken from heathen
mythology and customs the more beautiful parts for its own use.
"Christmas," says Dean Stanley, "brings before us the relations of the
Christian religion to the religions which went before; for the birth at
Bethlehem was itself a link with the past."
The pagan nations of antiquity[A] always had a tendency to worship the
sun, under different names, as the giver of light and life. And their
festivals in its honor took place near the winter solstice, the shortest
day in the year, when the sun in December begins its upward course,
thrilling men with the first distant promise of spring. This holiday was
called Saturnalia among the Romans and was marked by great merriment
and licence which extended even to the slaves. There were feasting and
gifts and the houses were hung with evergreens. A more barbarous form of
these rejoicings took place among the rude peoples of the north where
great blocks of wood blazed in honor of Odin and Thor, and sacrifices of
men and cattle were made to them. Mistletoe was cut then from the sacred
oaks with a golden sickle by the Prince of the Druids, between whom and
the Fire-Worshippers of Persia there was an affinity both in character
and customs.
The ancient Goths and Saxons called this festival Yule, which is
preserved to us in the Scottish word for Christmas and also in the name
of the Yule Log. The ancient Teutons celebrated the season by decking a
fir tree, for they thought of the sun, riding higher and higher in the
heavens, as the spreading and blossoming of a great tree. Thus our own
Christmas fir was decked as a symbol of the celestial sun tree. The
lights, according to Professor Schwartz, represent the flashes of
lightning overhead, the golden apples, nuts and balls symbolize the sun,
the moon and the stars, while the little animals hung in the branches
betoken sacrifices made in gratitude to the sun god.[B]
As Christianity replaced paganism, the Christians, in the tolerant
spirit of their Master, adopted these beautiful old usages, merely
changing their spirit. So that the Lord of Misrule who long presided
over the Christmas games of Christian England was the direct descendant
of the ruler who was appointed, with considerable prerogatives, to
preside over the sports of the Saturnalia. In this connection the narrow
Puritan author of the "Histrio-Mastix" laments: "If we compare our
Bacchanalian Christmasses with these Saturnalia, we shall find such a
near affinitye between them, both in regard to time and in manner of
solemnizing, that we must needs conclude the one to be but the very
issue of the other."
"Merrie old England," writes Walsh,[C] "was the soil in which Merrie
Christmas took its firmest root." Even in Anglo-Saxon days we hear of
Alfred holding high revelry in December, 878, so that he allowed the
Danes to surprise him, cut his army to pieces and send him a fugitive.
The court revelries increased in splendor after the conquest. Christmas,
it must be remembered was not then a single day of sport. It had the
preliminary novena which began December 16, and it ended on January 6,
or Twelfth Night. All this period was devoted to holiday making.
It was a democratic festival. All classes mixed in its merry-makings.
Hospitality was universal. An English country gentleman of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries held open house. With daybreak on Christmas
morning the tenants and neighbors thronged into the hall. The ale was
broached. Blackjacks and Cheshire cheese, with toast and sugar and
nutmeg, went plentifully round. The Hackin, or great sausage, must be
boiled at daybreak, and if it failed to be ready two young men took the
cook by the arm and ran her around the market-place till she was ashamed
of her laziness.
With the rise of Puritanism the very existence of Christmas was
threatened. Even the harmless good cheer of that season was looked upon
as pagan, or, what was worse, Popish. 'Into what a stupendous height
of more than pagan impiety,' cried Prynne (...) 'have we not now
degenerated! Prynne's rhetoric, it will be seen, is not without an
unconscious charm of humor. He complained that the England of his day
could not celebrate Christmas or any other festival 'without drinking,
roaring, healthing, dicing, carding, dancing, masques and stage-plays
(...) which Turkes and Infidels would abhor to practise.'
Puritanism brought over with it in the Mayflower the anti-Christmas
feeling to New England. So early as 1621 Governor Bradford was called
upon to administer a rebuke to 'certain lusty yonge men' who had just
come over in the little ship Fortune. 'On ye day called Christmas day,'
says William Bradford, 'ye Govr caled them out to worke (as was used),
but ye most of this new company excused themselves and said it went
against their consciences to worke on ye day. So ye Govr tould them
that if they made it matter of conscience, he would spare them till they
were better informed. So he led away ye rest, and left them; but when
they came home at noone from their worke, he found them in ye streete at
play, openly: some pitching ye barr, and some at stoole-ball and such
like sports. So he went to them and tooke away their implements, and
tould them that it was against his conscience that they should play and
others worke. If they made ye keeping of it matter of devotion, let them
kepe their houses, but ther should be no gameing or revelling in ye
streets. Since which time nothing hath been attempted that way, at least
openly.'
In England the feeling culminated in 1643, when the Roundhead Parliament
abolished the observance of saints' days and "the three grand festivals"
of Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide, "any law, statute, custom,
constitution, or canon to the contrary in any wise notwithstanding." The
king protested. But he was answered. In London, nevertheless, there was
an alarming disposition to observe Christmas. The mob attacked those who
by opening their shops flouted the holiday. In several counties the
disorder was threatening. But Parliament adopted strong measures, and
during the twelve years in which the great festivals were
discountenanced there was no further tumult, and the observance of
Christmas as a general holiday ceased.
The General Court of Massachusetts followed the example of the English
Parliament in 1659 when it enacted that 'anybody who is found observing,
by abstinence from labor, feasting, or any other way, any such day as
Christmas day, shall pay for every such offense five shillings.'
The restoration of English royalty brought about the restoration of the
English Christmas. It was not till 1681, however, that Massachusetts
repealed the ordinance of 1659. But the repeal was bitter to old
Puritanism, which kept up an ever attenuating protest even down to the
early part of the present century.
There are many superstitions connected with the coming of Christmas
itself. The bees are said to sing, the cattle to kneel, in honor of the
manger, and the sheep to go in procession in commemoration of the visit
of the angel to the shepherds.
Howison in his "Sketches of Upper Canada" relates that on one moonlit
Christmas Eve he saw an Indian creeping cautiously through the woods. In
response to an inquiry, he said. 'Me watch to see deer kneel. Christmas
night all deer kneel and look up to Great Spirit.'
In the German Alps it is believed that the cattle have the gift of
language on Christmas Eve. But it is a sin to attempt to play the
eavesdropper upon them. An Alpine story is told of a farmer's servant
who did not believe that the cattle could speak, and, to make sure, he
hid in his master's stable on Christmas Eve and listened. When the clock
struck twelve he was surprised at what he heard. 'We shall have hard
work to do this day week,' said one horse. 'Yes; the farmer's servant is
heavy,' answered the other horse. 'And the way to the churchyard is long
and steep,' said the first. The servant was buried that day week.
There is a beautiful superstition about the cock that Shakespeare put
into the mouth of Marcellus, in Hamlet—
"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time."
No other holiday has so rich an heritage of old customs and observances
as Christmas. The Yule Log has from time immemorial been haled to the
open fire-place on Christmas Eve, and lighted with the embers of its
predecessor to sanctify the roof-tree and protect it against those evil
spirits over whom the season is in everyway a triumph. Then the wassail
bowl full of swimming roasted apples, goes its merry round. Then the
gift-shadowing Christmas tree sheds its divine brilliance down the path
of the coming year; or stockings are hung for Santa Claus (St. Nicholas)
to fill during the night. Then the mistletoe becomes a precarious
shelter for maids, and the Waits—descendants of the minstrels of
old—go through the snow from door to door, singing their mellow old
carols, while masquerades and the merry Christmas game of Snapdragon are
not forgotten.[D]
Even the Christmas dinner has its special observances. In many an
English hall the stately custom still survives of bearing in a boar's
head to inaugurate the meal, as a reminder of the student of Queens
College, Oxford, who, attacked by a boar on Christmas day, choked him
with a copy of Aristotle and took his head back for dinner. The mince
pie, sacred to the occasion, is supposed to commemorate in its mixture
of oriental ingredients the offerings made by the wise men of the East.
As for turkey and plum pudding, they have a deep significance, but it is
clearer to the palate than to the brain.
Elise Traut relates the legend that on every Christmas eve the little
Christ-child wanders all over the world bearing on its shoulders a
bundle of evergreens. Through city streets and country lanes, up and
down hill, to proudest castle and lowliest hovel, through cold and storm
and sleet and ice, this holy child travels, to be welcomed or rejected
at the doors at which he pleads for succor. Those who would invite him
and long for his coming set a lighted candle in the window to guide him
on his way hither. They also believe that he comes to them in the guise
of any alms-craving, wandering person who knocks humbly at their doors
for sustenance, thus testing their benevolence. In many places the aid
rendered the beggar is looked upon as hospitality shown to Christ.
This legend embodies the true Christmas spirit which realizes, with a
rush of love to the heart, the divinity in every one of "the least of
these" our brethren. Selfishness is rebuked, the feeling of universal
brotherhood is fostered, while the length of this holiday season by
encouraging the reunion of families and of friends, provides a wonderful
rallying place for early affections. A wholesome and joyous current of
religious feeling flows through the entire season to temper its
extravagance and regulate its mirth.
"Under the sanctions of religion," writes Hervey,[E] "the covenants of
the heart are renewed.... The lovers of Earth seem to have met
together."
Christmas is the birthday of one whose chief contribution to the human
heart and mind was his message of boundless, universal love, He brought
to the world the greatest thing in the world and that is why the season
of his birth has won such an intimate place in our hearts and why its
jubilant bells find this echo there:
"Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
"Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
"Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
"Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
"Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
"Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
"Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be."
R.H.S.
ORIGIN
IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?
The following, reprinted from the editorial page of the New York Sun,
was written by the late Mr. Frank P. Church:
We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the
communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification
that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor: I am 8 years old.
Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says "If you see it in The Sun it's so."
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon.
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the
scepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except they see. They
think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little
minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are
little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in
his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as
measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and
knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love
and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and
give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be
the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if
there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no
poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no
enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which
childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies!
You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on
Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa
Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but
that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in
the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever
see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that
they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there
are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise
inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the
strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men
that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love,
romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal
beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world
there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand
years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he
will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM
PHILLIPS BROOKS
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.
For Christ is born of Mary,
And, gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim 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 hearts
The 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 angels
The great glad tidings tell;
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!
THE GLAD EVANGEL
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
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 ring
On Christmas day in the morning."
THE SHEPHERDS
WILLIAM DRUMMOND, OF HAWTHORNDEN
O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!
Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise
Of which that golden eye which clears the skies
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!
And blessed ye, in silly pastor's sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,
Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!
Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,
Though withered—blessed grass that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place!
Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,
Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees;
And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
"What means this glory round our feet,"
The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?"
And voices chanted clear and sweet,
"To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"
"What means that star," the Shepherds said,
"That brightens through the rocky glen?"
And angels, answering overhead,
Sang, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!"
'Tis eighteen hundred years and more
Since those sweet oracles were dumb;
We wait for Him, like them of yore;
Alas, He seems so slow to come!
But it was said, in words of gold,
No time or sorrow e'er shall dim,
That little children might be bold
In perfect trust to come to Him.
All round about our feet shall shine
A light like that the wise men saw,
If we our loving wills incline
To that sweet Life which is the Law.
So shall we learn to understand
The simple faith of shepherds then,
And, clasping kindly hand in hand,
Sing, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!"
But they who do their souls no wrong,
But keep at eve the faith of morn,
Shall daily hear the angel-song,
"To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
ALFRED DOMETT
It was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had 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 hush'd domain;
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,
Held undisturb'd their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago.
'T was 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 swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;
What reck'd the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!
Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor:
A streak of light before him lay,
Fall'n through a half-shut stable door
Across his path. He pass'd—for nought
Told 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!
O strange indifference!—low and high
Drows'd over common joys and cares:
The earth was still—but knew not why;
The world was listening—unawares.
How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world for ever!
To that still moment none would heed,
Man's doom was link'd, no more to sever,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago.
It is the calm and solemn night
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness, charm'd 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.
BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING
REGINALD HEBER
Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!
Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining,
Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all!
Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odors of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?
Vainly we offer each ample oblation;
Vainly with gifts would His favor secure:
Richer by far is the heart's adoration;
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning!
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!
GOD REST YE, MERRY GENTLEMEN
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 morn
The 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.
THE CHRISTMAS SILENCE
MARGARET DELAND
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 shed
Where 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 bar
Of light from one low-hanging star
Touches a baby's radiant hair.
No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays
Her 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 earth
Glad angels come to greet His birth
In burst of music, love, and light!
A CHRISTMAS LULLABY
JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS
Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings:
Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
With swathes of scented hay Thy bed
By Mary's hand at eve was spread.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
At midnight came the shepherds, they
Whom seraphs wakened by the way.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
And three kings from the East afar,
Ere dawn came, guided by the star.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems,
Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Thou who liest slumbering there,
Art King of Kings, earth, ocean, air.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing:
Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
HYMN FOR THE NATIVITY
EDWARD THRING
Happy night and happy silence downward softly stealing,
Softly stealing over land and sea,
Stars from golden censors swing a silent eager feeling
Down on Judah, down on Galilee;
And all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,
Listened, listened for the gladness of a cry.
Holy night, a sudden flash of light its way is winging:
Angels, angels, all above, around;
Hark, the angel voices, hark, the angel voices singing;
And the sheep are lying on the ground.
Lo, all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,
Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.
Happy night at Bethlehem; soft little hands are feeling,
Feeling in the manger with the kine:
Little hands, and eyelids closed in sleep, while angels kneeling,
Mary mother, hymn the Babe Divine.
Lo, all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,
Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.
Wide, as if the light were music, flashes adoration:
"Glory be to God, nor ever cease,"
All the silence thrills, and speeds the message of salvation:
"Peace on earth, good-will to men of peace."
Lo, all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,
Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.
Holy night, thy solemn silence evermore enfoldeth
Angels songs and peace from God on high:
Holy night, thy watcher still with faithful eye beholdeth
Wings that wave, and angel glory nigh,
Lo, hushed is strife in air, and earth, and sky,
Still thy watchers hear the gladness of the cry.
Praise Him, ye who watch the night, the silent night of ages:
Praise Him, shepherds, praise the Holy Child;
Praise Him, ye who hear the light, O praise Him, all ye sages;
Praise Him, children, praise Him meek and mild.
Lo, peace on Earth, glory to God on high,
Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.
MASTERS IN THIS HALL
ANONYMOUS
"To Bethlem did they go, the shepherds three;
To Bethlem did they go to see whe'r it were so or no,
Whether Christ were born or no
To set men free."
Masters, in this hall,
Hear ye news to-day
Brought over sea,
And ever I you pray.
Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!
Sing we clear!
Holpen are all folk on earth,
Born is God's Son so dear
Going over the hills,
Through the milk-white snow,
Heard I ewes bleat
While the wind did blow.
Nowell, &c.
Shepherds many an one
Sat among the sheep;
No man spake more word
Than they had been asleep.
Nowell, &c.
Quoth I 'Fellows mine,
Why this guise sit ye?
Making but dull cheer,
Shepherds though ye be?
Nowell, &c.
'Shepherds should of right
Leap and dance and sing;
Thus to see ye sit
Is a right strange thing.'
Nowell, &c.
Quoth these fellows then
'To Bethlem town we go,
To see a Mighty Lord
Lie in manger low.'
Nowell, &c.
'How name ye this Lord,
Shepherds?' then said I.
'Very God' they said,
'Come from Heaven high.'
Nowell, &c.
Then to Bethlem town
We went two and two,
And in a sorry place
Heard the oxen low.
Nowell, &c.
Therein did we see
A sweet and goodly May,
And a fair old man;
Upon the straw she lay.
Nowell, &c.
And a little CHILD
On her arm had she;
'Wot ye who this is?'
Said the hinds to me.
Nowell, &c.
Ox and ass him know,
Kneeling on their knee:
Wondrous joy had I
This little BABE to see.
Nowell, &c.
This is CHRIST the Lord,
Masters, be ye glad!
Christmas is come in,
And no folk should be sad.
Nowell, &c.
THE ADORATION OF THE WISE MEN
CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER
Saw you never in the twilight,
When the sun had left the skies,
Up in heaven the clear stars shining,
Through the gloom like silver eyes?
So of old the wise men watching,
Saw a little stranger star,
And they knew the King was given,
And they follow'd it from far.
Heard you never of the story,
How they cross'd the desert wild,
Journey'd on by plain and mountain,
Till they found the Holy Child?
How they open'd all their treasure,
Kneeling to that Infant King,
Gave the gold and fragrant incense,
Gave the myrrh in offering?
Know ye not that lowly Baby
Was the bright and morning star,
He who came to light the Gentiles,
And the darken'd isles afar?
And we too may seek his cradle,
There our heart's best treasures bring,
Love, and Faith, and true devotion,
For our Saviour, God, and King.
THE SHEPHERDS IN JUDEA
MARY AUSTIN
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea,
They are pacing to and fro,
For the air grows chill at twilight
And the weanling lambs are slow!
Leave, O lambs, the dripping sedges, quit the bramble and the brier,
Leave the fields of barley stubble, for we light the watching fire;
Twinkling fires across the twilight, and a bitter watch to keep,
Lest the prowlers come a-thieving where the flocks unguarded sleep.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea,
They are singing soft and low—
Song the blessed angels taught them
All the centuries ago!
There was never roof to hide them, there were never walls to bind;
Stark they lie beneath the star-beams, whom the blessed angels find,
With the huddled flocks upstarting, wondering if they hear aright,
While the Kings come riding, riding, solemn shadows in the night.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea,
They are thinking, as they go,
Of the light that broke their watching
On the hillside in the snow!—
Scattered snow along the hillside, white as springtime fleeces are,
With the whiter wings above them and the glory-streaming star—
Guiding-star across the housetops; never fear the Shepherds felt
Till they found the Babe in manger where the kindly cattle knelt.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea!—
Do you think the Shepherds know
How the whole round earth is brightened
In the ruddy Christmas glow?
How the sighs are lost in laughter, and the laughter brings the tears,
As the thoughts of men go seeking back across the darkling years
Till they find the wayside stable that the star-led Wise Men found,
With the Shepherds, mute, adoring, and the glory shining round!
CHRISTMAS CAROL
JAMES S. PARK
So crowded was the little town
On the first Christmas day,
Tired Mary Mother laid her down
To rest upon the hay.
(Ah, would my door might have been thrown
Wide open on her way!)
But when the Holy Babe was born
In the deep hush of night,
It seemed as if a Sabbath morn
Had come with sacred light.
Child Jesus made the place forlorn
With his own beauty bright.
The manger rough was all his rest;
The cattle, having fed,
Stood silent by, or closer pressed,
And gravely wonderèd.
(Ah, Lord, if only that my breast
Had cradled Thee instead!)
NEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST NIGHT
NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
Deep in the shelter of the cave,
The ass with drooping head
Stood weary in the shadow, where
His master's hand had led.
About the manger oxen lay,
Bending a wide-eyed gaze
Upon the little new-born Babe,
Half worship, half amaze.
High in the roof the doves were set,
And cooed there, soft and mild,
Yet not so sweet as, in the hay,
The Mother to her Child.
The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath
To keep Babe Jesus warm,
While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,
The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!"
Out in the fields, beneath the stars,
The young lambs sleeping lay,
And dreamed that in the manger slept
Another white as they.
- - - - -
These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;
To Thee their love was given,
For in Thy baby face there shone
The wonder-light of Heaven.
CRADLE HYMN
ISAAC WATTS
Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber;
Holy angels guard thy bed;
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care, or payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.
How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven He descended,
And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle;
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When His birthplace was a stable,
And His softest bed was hay.
See the kindly shepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky!
When they sought Him, there they found Him,
With his Virgin-Mother by.
See the lovely babe a-dressing;
Lovely infant, how He smiled!
When He wept, the mother's blessing
Soothed and hushed the holy child.
Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
Where the honest oxen fed;
—Peace, my darling! here's no danger!
Here's no ox a-near thy bed!
Mayst thou live to know and fear Him,
Trust and love Him all thy days;
Then go dwell forever near Him,
See His face, and sing His praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire;
Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.
AN ODE ON THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR
ROBERT HERRICK
In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, O Jesu!
Thou pretty baby, born here
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.
Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.
But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily work will dress thee,
And, as we dispossess thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.
CHRISTMAS SONG
EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS
Calm on the listening ear of night
Come heaven's melodious strains,
Where wild Judea stretches far
Her silver-mantled plains;
Celestial choirs from courts above
Shed sacred glories there;
And angels with their sparkling lyres
Make music on the air.
The answering hills of Palestine
Send back the glad reply,
And greet from all their holy heights
The day-spring from on high:
O'er the blue depths of Galilee
There comes a holier calm,
And Sharon waves, in solemn praise,
Her silent groves of palm.
"Glory to God!" The lofty strain
The realm of ether fills:
How sweeps the song of solemn joy
O'er Judah's sacred hills!
"Glory to God!" The sounding skies
Loud with their anthems ring;
"Peace on the earth; good-will to men,
From heaven's eternal King!"
Light on thy hills, Jerusalem!
The Saviour now is born:
More bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains
Breaks the first Christmas morn;
And brighter on Moriah's brow,
Crowned with her temple-spires,
Which first proclaim the new-born light,
Clothed with its Orient fires.
This day shall Christian lips be mute,
And Christian hearts be cold?
Oh, catch the anthem that from heaven
O'er Judah's mountains rolled!
When nightly burst from seraph-harps
The high and solemn lay,—
"Glory to God! on earth be peace;
Salvation comes to-day!"
A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR
BEN JONSON
I sing the birth was born to-night
The author both of life and light;
The angels so did sound it.
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light, and were afraid,
Yet searched, and true they found it.
The Son of God, th' eternal king,
That did us all salvation bring,
And freed the soul from danger;
He whom the whole world could not take,
The Word, which heaven and earth did make,
Was now laid in a manger.
The Father's wisdom willed it so,
The Son's obedience knew no No,
Both wills were in one stature;
And as that wisdom had decreed,
The Word was now made flesh indeed,
And took on him our nature.
What comfort by him do we win,
Who made himself the price of sin,
To make us heirs of glory!
To see this babe all innocence;
A martyr born in our defence:
Can man forget the story?
THE SHEPHERD'S SONG
EDMUND BOLTON
Sweet music, sweeter far
Than any song is sweet:
Sweet music, heavenly rare,
Mine ears, O peers, doth greet.
You gentle flocks, whose fleeces pearled with dew,
Resemble heaven, whom golden drops make bright,
Listen, O listen, now, O not to you
Our pipes make sport to shorten weary night:
But voices most divine
Make blissful harmony:
Voices that seem to shine,
For what else clears the sky?
Tunes can we hear, but not the singers see,
The tunes divine, and so the singers be.
Lo, how the firmament
Within an azure fold
The flock of stars hath pent,
That we might them behold,
Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light,
Nor can their crystals such reflection give.
What then doth make the element so bright?
The heavens are come down upon earth to live
But hearken to the song,
Glory to glory's King,
And peace all men among,
These quiristers do sing.
Angels they are, as also (shepherds) He
Whom in our fear we do admire to see.
Let not amazement blind
Your souls, said he, annoy:
To you and all mankind
My message bringeth joy.
For lo! the world's great Shepherd now is born,
A blessed Babe, an Infant full of power:
After long night uprisen is the morn,
Renowning Bethlem in the Saviour.
Sprung is the perfect day,
By prophets seen afar:
Sprung is the mirthful May,
Which winter cannot mar.
In David's city doth this Sun appear
Clouded in flesh, yet, shepherds, sit we here!
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
AUBREY DE VERE
They leave the land of gems and gold,
The shining portals of the East;
For Him, the woman's Seed foretold,
They leave the revel and the feast.
To earth their sceptres they have cast,
And crowns by kings ancestral worn;
They track the lonely Syrian waste;
They kneel before the Babe new born.
O happy eyes that saw Him first;
O happy lips that kissed His feet:
Earth slakes at last her ancient thirst;
With Eden's joy her pulses beat.
True kings are those who thus forsake
Their kingdoms for the Eternal King;
Serpent, her foot is on thy neck;
Herod, thou writhest, but canst not sting.
He, He is King, and He alone
Who lifts that infant hand to bless;
Who makes His mother's knee His throne,
Yet rules the starry wilderness.
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
ANON
Written in the Chapel of the Manger, in the Convent Church of Bethlehem,
Palestine:
In the fields where, long ago,
Dropping tears, amid the leaves,
Ruth's young feet went to and fro,
Binding up the scattered sheaves,
In the field that heard the voice
Of Judea's shepherd King,
Still the gleaners may rejoice,
Still the reapers shout and sing.
For each mount and vale and plain
Felt the touch of holier feet.
Then the gleaners of the grain
Heard, in voices full and sweet,
"Peace on earth, good will to men,"
Ring from angel lips afar,
While, o'er every glade and glen,
Broke the light of Bethlehem's star.
Star of hope to souls in night,
Star of peace above our strife,
Guiding, where the gates of death
Ope to fields of endless life.
Wanderer from the nightly throng
Which the eastern heavens gem;
Guided, by an angel's song,
To the Babe of Bethlehem.
Not Judea's hills alone
Have earth's weary gleaners trod,
Not to heirs of David's throne
Is it given to "reign with God."
But where'er on His green earth
Heavenly faith and longing are,
Heavenly hope and life have birth,
'Neath the smile of Bethlehem's star.
In each lowly heart or home,
By each love-watched cradle-bed,
Where we rest, or where we roam,
Still its changeless light is shed.
In its beams each quickened heart,
Howe'er saddened or denied,
Keeps one little place apart
For the Hebrew mother's Child.
And that inner temple fair
May be holier ground than this,
Hallowed by the pilgrim's prayer,
Warmed by many a pilgrim's kiss.
In its shadow still and dim,
Where our holiest longings are,
Rings forever Bethlehem's hymn,
Shines forever Bethlehem's star.
CHRISTMAS DAY
CHARLES WESLEY
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies,
With the angelic host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem!
Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.
Mild, he lays his glory by;
Born, that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
CHRISTMAS
ANON
Once in Royal David's city
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her baby
In a manger for His bed.
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ that little child.
He came down to earth from Heaven,
Who is God and Lord of all.
And his shelter was a stable,
And his cradle was a stall.
With the poor and mean and lowly,
Lived on earth our Saviour Holy.
And our eyes at last shall see Him
Through His own redeeming love,
For that child so dear and gentle
Is our Lord in Heaven above;
And He leads His children on
To the place where He is gone.
Not in that poor, lowly stable,
With the oxen standing by,
We shall see Him; but in Heaven,
Set at God's right hand on high,
When, like stars, His children crowned
All in white, shall wait around.
CHRISTMAS
NAHUM TATE
While shepherds watch'd 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 dread
Had seized their troubled mind);
"Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind.
"To you, in David's town, this day
Is born of David's line
The Saviour who is Christ the Lord;
And this shall be the sign:
"The heavenly Babe you there shall find
To human view display'd,
All meanly wrapt in swathing bands,
And in a manger laid."
Thus spake the Seraph; and forthwith
Appear'd a shining throng
Of angels, praising God, and thus
Address'd their joyful song:
"All glory be to God on high,
And to the earth be peace;
Good-will henceforth from heaven to men
Begin, and never cease!"
"WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT"
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 grass
With 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 flames
The 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 saw
The little Saviour's birth;
Then came such flash of silver light
Across the bending skies,
The wondering shepherds woke, and hid
Their frightened, dazzled eyes!
And all their gentle sleepy flock
Looked up, then slept again,
Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars
Brought endless Peace to men—
Nor even heard the gracious words
That 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 up
In Mary's happy eyes!
COLONIAL CHRISTMASES
ALICE MORSE EARLE
[From "Customs and Fashions in Old New England."]
The first century of colonial life saw few set times and days for
pleasure. The holy days of the English Church were as a stench to the
Puritan nostrils, and their public celebration was at once rigidly
forbidden by the laws of New England. New holidays were not quickly
evolved, and the sober gatherings for matters of Church and State for a
time took their place. The hatred of "wanton Bacchanallian Christmasses"
spent throughout England, as Cotton said, in "revelling, dicing,
carding, masking, mumming, consumed in compotations, in interludes, in
excess of wine, in mad mirth," was the natural reaction of intelligent
and thoughtful minds against the excesses of a festival which had ceased
to be a Christian holiday, but was dominated by a lord of misrule who
did not hesitate to invade the churches in time of service, in his noisy
revels and sports. English Churchmen long ago revolted also against such
Christmas observance.
Of the first Pilgrim Christmas we know but little, save that it was
spent, as was many a later one, in work....
By 1659 the Puritans had grown to hate Christmas more and more; it was,
to use Shakespeare's words, "the bug that feared them all." The very
name smacked to them of incense, stole, and monkish jargon; any person
who observed it as a holiday by forbearing of labor, feasting, or any
other way was to pay five shillings fine, so desirous were they to
"beate down every sprout of Episcopacie." Judge Sewall watched jealously
the feeling of the people with regard to Christmas, and noted with
pleasure on each succeeding year the continuance of common traffic
throughout the day. Such entries as this show his attitude: "Dec. 25,
1685. Carts come to town and shops open as usual. Some somehow observe
the day, but are vexed I believe that the Body of people profane it, and
blessed be God no authority yet to compel them to keep it." When the
Church of England established Christmas services in Boston a few years
later, we find the Judge waging hopeless war against Governor Belcher
over it, and hear him praising his son for not going with other boy
friends to hear the novel and attractive services. He says: "I dehort
mine from Christmas keeping and charge them to forbear."
Christmas could not be regarded till this century as a New England
holiday, though in certain localities, such as old Narragansett—an
opulent community which was settled by Episcopalians—two weeks of
Christmas visiting and feasting were entered into with zest by both
planters and slaves for many years previous to the revolution.
THE ANGELS
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 swarm,
And cope of stars re-echoèd the same.
Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.
Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him 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.
HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS
FELICIA HEMANS
Oh! lovely voices of the sky
Which hymned the Saviour's birth,
Are ye not singing still on high,
Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?
To us yet speak the strains
Wherewith, in time gone by,
Ye blessed the Syrian swains,
Oh! voices of the sky!
Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams
That 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 night
Of hope, and joy, and faith—
Oh! clear and shining light!
NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP
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 yield
This little Pilgrim bed;
But forced he is with silly beasts
In crib to shroud his head.
Despise him not for lying there;
First what he is inquire:
An Orient pearl is often found
In 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 attire
His 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.
THE THREE KINGS
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 traveled 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 sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere;
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of 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 rows
Of 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 hill and dell,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at some wayside well.
"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 plain
Like 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 turned
And 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 day
Of 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 death
Were 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 said
Of 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.
HYMN ON THE NATIVITY
JOHN MILTON
It was the winter wild,
While the heaven-born child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature, in awe of him,
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Only with speeches fair
She wooes the gentle air,
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw;
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
But he, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:
She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;
And, waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around:
The idle spear and shield were high uphung;
The hookèd chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood;
The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovereign lord was by.
But peaceful was the night,
Wherein the Prince of Light
His reign of peace upon the earth began:
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kissed,
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.
The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious influence;
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer had often warned them thence:
But in their glimmering orbs did glow,
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
And, though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame.
As his inferior flame
The new-enlightened world no more should need;
He saw a greater sun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they then
