CHRISTMAS POEMS

In holly hedges starving birds Silently mourn the setting year; Upright like silver-plated swords The flags stand in the frozen mere. The mistletoe we still adore Upon the twisted hawthorn grows: In antique gardens hellebore Puts forth its blushing Christmas rose. Shrivell’d and purple, cheek by jowl, The hips and haws hang drearily; Roll’d in a ball the sulky owl Creeps far into his hollow tree. In abbeys and cathedrals dim The birth of Christ is acted o’er; The kings of Cologne worship him, Balthazar, Jasper, Melchior. The shepherds in the field at night Beheld an angel glory-clad, And shrank away with sore affright. “Be not afraid,” the angel bade. “I bring good news to king and clown, To you here crouching on the sward; For there is born in David’s town A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. “Behold the babe is swathed, and laid Within a manger.” Straight there stood Beside the angel all arrayed A heavenly multitude. “Glory to God,” they sang; “and peace, Good pleasure among men.” The wondrous message of release! Glory to God again! Hush! Hark! the waits, far up the street! A distant, ghostly charm unfolds, Of magic music wild and sweet, Anomes and clarigolds.

What sweeter music can we bring Than a carol, for to sing The birth of this our heavenly King? Awake the voice! awake the string! Heart, ear, and eye, and everything! Dark and dull night, fly hence away, And give the honour to this day, That sees December turned to May. If we may ask the reason, say, The why and wherefore all things here Seem like the spring-time of the year? Why does the chilling winter’s morn Smile, like a field beset with corn? Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn, Thus, on the sudden? Come and see The cause, why things thus fragrant be. ’Tis He is born, whose quickening birth Gives light and lustre, public mirth, To heaven, and the under-earth. We see Him come, and know Him ours, Who with His sunshine and His showers Turns all the patient ground to flowers. The darling of the world is come, And fit it is we find a room To welcome Him. The nobler part Of all the house here, is the heart, Which we will give Him; and bequeath This holly, and this ivy wreath, To do Him honour; who’s our King, And Lord of all this revelling.

Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell Him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known; When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon his bib, or stomacher; And tell Him, for good handsel[23] too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of a clean straight oaten reed, To charm his cries at time of need. Tell Him, for coral thou hast none; But if thou hadst, He should have one; But poor thou art, and known to be Even as moneyless, as He. Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss From those mellifluous lips of His, Then never take a second on, To spoil the first impression.

Thou whose birth on earth Angels sang to men, While thy stars made mirth, Saviour, at thy birth. This day born again; As this night was bright With thy cradle-ray, Very light of light, Turn the wild world’s night To thy perfect day. Thou the Word and Lord In all time and space Heard, beheld, adored, With all ages poured Forth before thy face, Lord, what worth in earth Drew thee down to die? What therein was worth, Lord, thy death and birth? What beneath thy sky? Thou whose face gives grace As the sun’s doth heat, Let thy sunbright face Lighten time and space Here beneath thy feet. Bid our peace increase, Thou that madest morn; Bid oppression cease; Bid the night be peace; Bid the day be born.