Chapter 3
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.
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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!"
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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?
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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!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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!"
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"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!
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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.
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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.
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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!
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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.
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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.
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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 That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal fingers strook, Divinely warbled voice Answering the stringèd noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loath to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.
Nature, that heard such sound, Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won, To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union.
At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed; The helmèd cherubim, And sworded seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born heir.