Part 5
Sweet, harmless live{r}s! on whose holy leisure, Waits innocence and pleasure; Whose leaders to those pastures and clear springs Were patriarchs, saints, and kings; How happen’d it that in the dead of night You only saw true light, While Palestine was fast asleep, and lay Without one thought of day? Was it because those first and blessèd swains Were pilgrims on those plains When they received the promise, for which now ’Twas there first shown to you? ’Tis true he loves that dust whereon they go That serve him here below, And therefore might for memory of those His love there first disclose; But wretched Salem, once his love, must now No voice nor vision know; Her stately piles with all their height and pride Now languishèd and died, And Bethlem’s humble cots above them stept While all her seers slept; Her cedar, fir, hewed stones, and gold were all Polluted through their fall; And those once sacred mansions were now Mere emptiness and show. This made the angel call at reeds and thatch, Yet where the shepherds watch, And God’s own lodging, though he could not lack, To be a common rack. No costly pride, no soft-clothed luxury In those thin cells could lie; Each stirring wind and storm blew through their cots, Which never harboured plots; Only content and love and humble joys Lived there without all noise; Perhaps some harmless cares for the next day Did in their bosoms play, As where to lead their sheep, what silent nook, What springs or shades to look; But that was all; and now with gladsome care They for the town prepare; They leave their flock, and in a busy talk All towards Bethlem walk, To seek their soul’s great Shepherd, who was come To bring all stragglers home; Where now they find Him out, and, taught before, That Lamb of God adore, That Lamb, whose days great kings and prophets wished And longed to see, but missed. The first light they beheld was bright and gay, And turned their night to day; But to this later light they saw in Him Their day was dark and dim. HENRY VAUGHAN
50. CHRIST’S NATIVITY
Awake, glad heart! get up and sing! It is the Birthday of thy King. Awake! awake! The sun doth shake Light from his locks, and, all the way Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.
Awake! awake! hark how th’ wood rings, Winds whisper, and the busy springs A concert make! Awake! awake! Man is their high-priest, and should rise To offer up the sacrifice.
I would I were some bird or star, Fluttering in woods, or lifted far Above this inn, And road of sin! Then either star or bird should be Shining or singing still to Thee.
I would I had in my best part Fit rooms for Thee! or that my heart Were so clean as Thy manger was! But I am all filth, and obscene: Yet, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean.
Sweet Jesu! will then. Let no more This leper haunt and soil Thy door! Cure him, ease him, O release him! And let once more, by mystic birth, The Lord of life be born in earth. HENRY VAUGHAN
51. AND THEY LAID HIM IN A MANGER
Happy crib, that wert alone To my God, bed, cradle, throne! Whilst thy glorious vileness I View with divine fancy’s eye, Sordid filth seems all the cost, State, and splendour, crowns do boast. See heaven’s sacred majesty Humbled beneath poverty; Swaddled up in homely rags, On a bed of straw and flags! He whose hands the heavens display’d, And the world’s foundations laid, From the world almost exiled, Of all ornaments despoil’d. Perfumes bathe Him not, new-born, Persian mantles not adorn; Nor do the rich roofs look bright, With the jasper’s orient light. Where, O royal Infant, be Th’ ensigns of Thy majesty; Thy Sire’s equalizing state; And Thy sceptre that rules fate? Where’s Thy angel-guarded throne, Whence Thy laws Thou didst make known— Laws which heaven, earth, hell, obey’d? These, ah! these aside He laid; Would the emblem be—of pride By humility outvied? SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE
52. AT THE SIGN OF THE HEART
But art Thou come, dear Saviour? hath Thy love Thus made Thee stoop, and leave Thy throne above
Thy lofty heavens, and thus Thyself to dress In dust to visit mortals? Could no less
A condescension serve? and after all The mean reception of a cratch and stall?
Dear Lord, I’ll fetch Thee thence! I have a room (’Tis poor, but ’tis my best) if Thou wilt come
Within so small a cell, where I would fain Mine and the world’s Redeemer entertain.
I mean, my Heart: ’tis sluttish, I confess, And will not mend Thy lodging, Lord, unless
Thou send before Thy harbinger, I mean Thy pure and purging Grace, to make it clean
And sweep its nasty corners; then I’ll try To wash it also with a weeping eye.
And when ’tis swept and wash’d, I then will go And, with Thy leave, I’ll fetch some flowers that grow
In Thine own garden, Faith and Love, to Thee; With these I’ll dress it up, and these shall be
My rosemary and bays. Yet when my best Is done, the room’s not fit for such a Guest.
But here’s the cure; Thy presence, Lord, alone Will make a stall a Court, a cratch a Throne. UNKNOWN
53. LODGED IN AN INN
Lodged in an inn What Guest divine There meekly lay, The God of night and day! In tax-time to pay sums He comes, Ev’n man’s price full: From Satan’s rule He will set free Our poor humanity.
To us betake Blest God! and make Within our breast Thy lodging-place and rest; Thou Temples seek’st, not Inns: Let sins No more intrude On th’ Inmate God, Nor e’er deface The ornaments of grace. UNKNOWN
54. YET IF HIS MAJESTY OUR SOVEREIGN LORD
Yet if his majesty our sovereign Lord Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say, ‘I’ll be your guest to-morrow night,’ How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work! ‘Let no man idle stand.’
‘Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall, See they be fitted all; Let there be room to eat, And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright, That without tapers they may give a light.
‘Look to the presence: are the carpets spread, The daïs o’er the head, The cushions in the chairs, And all the candles lighted on the stairs? Perfume the chambers, and in any case Let each man give attendance in his place.’
Thus if the king were coming would we do, And ’twere good reason too; For ’tis a duteous thing To show all honour to an earthly king, And after all our travail and our cost, So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
But at the coming of the King of heaven, All’s set at six and seven. We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn, We entertain Him always like a stranger, And as at first still lodge Him in the manger. UNKNOWN
55. AND ART THOU COME, BLEST BABE?
And art Thou come, blest Babe, and come to me? Come down to teach me how to come to Thee?
Welcome, thrice welcome to my panting soul, Which, as it loves, doth grieve that ’tis so foul.
The less ’tis fit for Thee come from above, The more it needs Thee, and the more I love. UNKNOWN
56. SONG OF THE ANGELS AT THE NATIVITY
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!’ NAHUM TATE
57. SHEPHERDS, REJOICE
Shepherds, rejoice, lift up your eyes, And send your fears away; News from the region of the skies! Salvation’s born to-day.
‘Jesus, the God whom angels fear, Comes down to dwell with you; To-day He makes His entrance here, But not as monarchs do.
‘No gold, nor purple swaddling bands, Nor royal shining things; A manger for His cradle stands And holds the King of kings.
‘Go, shepherds, where the Infant lies, And see His humble throne:— With tears of joy in all your eyes Go, shepherds, kiss the Son.’
Thus Gabriel sang: and straight around The heavenly armies throng; They tune their harps to lofty sound, And thus conclude the song:
‘Glory to God that reigns above, Let peace surround the earth; Mortals shall know their Maker’s love, At their Redeemer’s birth.’
Lord! and shall angels have their songs, And men no tunes to raise? O may we lose these useless tongues When they forget to praise!
Glory to God that reigns above, That pitied us forlorn! We join to sing our Maker’s love— For there’s a Saviour born. ISAAC WATTS
58. A CRADLE SONG
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 kinder shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him, there they found Him, With the 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 hornèd 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 for ever 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. ISAAC WATTS
59. A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY
Christians, awake, salute the happy morn Whereon the Saviour of the world was born; Rise to adore the Mystery of love, Which hosts of angels chanted from above: With them the joyful tidings first begun Of God incarnate, and the Virgin’s Son: Then to the watchful shepherds it was told, Who heard th’ Angelic Herald’s voice—‘Behold! I bring good tidings of a Saviour’s birth To you, and all the nations upon earth; This day hath God fulfill’d his promised word; This day is born a Saviour, Christ, the Lord: In David’s city, shepherds, ye shall find The long-foretold Redeemer of mankind, Wrapt up in swaddling clothes, the Babe divine Lies in a manger; this shall be the sign.’ JOHN BYROM
60. A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY
Hark, the glad sound! the Saviour comes, The Saviour promised long; Let every heart prepare a throne, And every voice a song!
He comes, the prisoners to release In Satan’s bondage held; The gates of brass before Him burst, The iron fetters yield.
He comes, the broken heart to bind, The bleeding soul to cure, And with the treasures of His grace T’ enrich the humble poor.
Our glad Hosannas, Prince of Peace, Thy welcome shall proclaim, And heaven’s eternal arches ring With Thy belovèd name. PHILIP DODDRIDGE
61. A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY
Hark! how all the welkin rings, Glory to the King of kings! Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled! Joyful, all ye nations, rise, Join the triumph of the skies; Universal nature say, Christ the Lord is born to-day.
Christ, by highest Heaven adored; Christ, the Everlasting Lord; Late in time behold Him come, Offspring of a Virgin’s womb; Veil’d in flesh the Godhead see; Hail, th’ Incarnate Deity! Pleased as man with men t’ appear, Jesus, our Immanuel here!
Hail! the heavenly 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. CHARLES WESLEY
62. THE SHEPHERDS WENT THEIR HASTY WAY
The shepherds went their hasty way, And found the lowly stable-shed, Where the virgin-mother lay; And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, A mother’s song the virgin-mother sung.
They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night! While sweeter than a mother’s song, Blest angels heralded the Saviour’s birth, Glory to God on high! and peace on earth!
She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she pressed; And while she cried, The Babe is mine! The milk rushed faster to her breast: Joy rose within her, like a summer’s morn; Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
Thou mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate! That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate? Sweet music’s loudest note, the poet’s story,— Didst thou ne’er love to hear of fame and glory?
And is not War a youthful king, A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; Him earth’s majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye Compels the maiden’s love-confessing sigh.
‘Tell this in some more courtly scene To maids and youths in robes of state! I am a woman poor and mean, And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child.
‘A murderous fiend by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his widow’s toil had won; Plunders God’s world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
‘Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease; I’m poor and of a low estate, The mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me, like a summer’s morn: Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of Peace is born.’ SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
63. FROM OTTFRIED’S PARAPHRASE OF THE GOSPEL
She gave with joy her virgin breast; She hid it not, she bared the breast Which suckled that divinest Babe! Blessed, blessed were the breasts Which the Saviour Infant kiss’d; And blessed, blessed was the mother Who wrapp’d His limbs in swaddling clothes, Singing placed Him on her lap, Hung o’er Him with her looks of love, And soothed Him with a lulling motion. Blessed! for she shelter’d Him From the damp and chilling air; Blessed, blessed! for she lay With such a Babe in one blest bed, Close as babes and mothers lie! Blessed, blessed evermore, With her virgin lips she kiss’d, With her arms, and to her breast, She embraced the Babe divine, Her Babe divine the virgin-mother! There lives not on this ring of earth A mortal that can sing her praise. Mighty mother, virgin pure, In the darkness and the night For us she _bore_ the heavenly Lord. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
64. THE VIRGIN’S CRADLE HYMN
Copied from a print of the Virgin in a Catholic village in Germany.
Dormi, Jesu! mater ridet Quae tam dulcem somnum videt, Dormi, Jesu! blandule! Si non dormis, mater plorat, Inter fila cantans orat, Blande, veni, somnule.
Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling: Mother sits beside thee smiling; Sleep, my darling, tenderly; If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, Singing as her wheel she turneth: Come, soft slumber, balmily! SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
65. BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING!
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 dew-drops 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, Odours 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 favour 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! REGINALD HEBER
66. THEY LEAVE THE LAND OF GEMS AND GOLD
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. AUBREY DE VERE
67. CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR BELLS
1 The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound:
Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, _Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, Peace and goodwill, to all mankind._
This year I slept and woke with pain, I almost wish’d no more to wake, And that my hold on life would break Before I heard those bells again:
But they my troubled spirit rule, For they controll’d me when a boy; They bring me sorrow touch’d with joy, The merry, merry bells of Yule.
2 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
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 these 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. ALFRED TENNYSON (from _In Memoriam_)
68. THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE
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 earth and sea: The clashing of continual wars Was hushed throughout the wide domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.
It was the calm and silent night: The Senator of ancient Rome Impatient urged his chariot’s flight, From lordly revel rolling home: Triumphal arches gleaming swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; Nought recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.
Within that province far away, Went plodding home the weary boor. A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable door Across his path:—he passed; for nought Told what was going on within; How bright the stars his only thought, The air, how calm and cold and thin In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.
Oh strange indifference! low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares— The earth was still, it 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 linked, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.
It is the calm and silent night— A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals around, and smite The darkness—charmed and holy now— The day that erst no name had worn, To it a blessed name is given, For in that stable lay, new born, The Peaceful Prince of earth and heaven— In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. ALFRED DOMETT
69. CHRIST WAS BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY
Christ was born on Christmas day; Wreathe the holly, twine the bay; _Christus natus hodie_: The Babe, the Son, the Holy One of Mary.