Chapter 2
Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town As far as the Holy Well, And there did see as fine children As any tongue can tell.
He said, God bless you every one, And your bodies Christ save and see: Little children, shall I play with you, And you shall play with me?
But they made answer to Him, No: They were lords' and ladies' sons; And He, the meanest of them all, Was but a maiden's child, born in an ox's stall.
Sweet Jesus turned Him around, And He neither laughed nor smiled, But the tears came trickling from His eyes Like water from the skies.
Sweet Jesus turned Him about, To His mother's dear home went He, And said, I have been in yonder town, As far as you can see.
I have been down in yonder town As far as the Holy Well, There did I meet as fine children As any tongue can tell.
I bid God bless them every one, And their bodies Christ save and see: Little children, shall I play with you, And you shall play with me?
But they made answer to me, No: They were lords' and ladies' sons; And I, the meanest of them all, Was but a maiden's child, born in an ox's stall.
Though you are but a maiden's child, Born in an ox's stall, Thou art the Christ, the King of heaven, And the Saviour of them all.
Sweet Jesus, go down to yonder town As far as the Holy Well, And take away those sinful souls, And dip them deep in hell.
Nay, nay, sweet Jesus said, Nay, nay, that may not be; For there are too many sinful souls Crying out for the help of me.
THE HOLLY AND THE IVY.
The Holly and the Ivy, Now both are full well grown; Of all the trees that spring in wood, The holly bears the crown. The holly bears a blossom As white as a lily flow'r; And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ To be our sweet Saviour.
The holly bears a berry As red as any blood, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ To do poor sinners good. The holly bears a prickle As sharp as any thorn, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ On Christmas Day in the morn.
The holly bears a bark As bitter as any gall, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ For to redeem us all. The holly and the ivy Now are both well grown; Of all the trees that are in the wood, The holly bears the crown.
THE CONTEST OF THE VINES.
Nay, ivy, nay, It shall not be, I wis; Let holly have the mastery, As the manner is.
Holly stand in the hall, Fair to behold; Ivy stand without the door, She is full sore a-cold. Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Holly and his merry men They dancen and they sing; Ivy and her maidens They weepen and they wring. Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Ivy hath a kybe,[P] She caught it with the cold; So mot they all have ae,[Q] That with ivy hold. Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Holly hath berries As red as any rose, The forester and the hunters Keep them from the does. Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Ivy hath berries As black as any sloe; There come the owl And eat him as she go. Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Holly hath birdés A full fair flock, The nightingale, the popinjay, The gentle laverock. Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Good ivy, What birdés hast thou? None but the howlet That krey[R] "How, how."
Nay, ivy, nay, It shall not be, I wis; Let holly have the mastery, As the manner is.
FOOTNOTES:
[P] Chapped skin.
[Q] So may all have.
[R] Cries.
ANE SANG OF THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.
A SCOTCH CAROL.
I come from hevin to tell The best nowellis that ever befell; To you this tythinges trew I bring, And I will of them say and sing:
This day to yow is borne ane childe Of Marie meike and Virgine mylde, That blessit barne, bining and kynde, Sall yow rejoyce baith heart and mynd.
My saull and lyfe, stand up and see Quha lyes in ane cribe of tree, Quhat babe is that, so gude and faire? It is Christ, God's sonne and aire.
O God, that made all creature, How art Thow becum so pure, That on the hay and stray will lye Amang the asses, oxin, and kye!
O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit, Prepare Thy creddill in my spreit, And I sall rocke Thee in my hert, And never mair from Thee depart.
But I sall praise Thee evermoir With sangs sweit unto Thy gloir, The knees of my hert sall I bow, And sing that right Balululow.
CHRISTMAS MINSTRELSY.
The minstrels played their Christmas tune To-night beneath my cottage eaves; While smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, That overpowered their natural green.
Through hill and valley every breeze Had sunk to rest with folded wings: Keen was the air, but could not freeze Nor check the music of the strings; So stout and hardy were the band That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.
And who but listened?--till was paid Respect to every inmate's claim, The greeting given, the music played In honor of each household name, Duly pronounced with lusty call, And a merry Christmas wished to all.
O Brother! I revere the choice That took thee from thy native hills; And it is given thee to rejoice: Though public care full often tills (Heaven only witness of the toil) A barren and ungrateful soil.
Yet would that thou, with me and mine, Hadst heard this never-failing rite; And seen on other faces shine A true revival of the light Which nature, and these rustic powers, In simple childhood, spread through ours!
For pleasure hath not ceased to wait On these expected annual rounds, Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate Call forth the unelaborate sounds, Or they are offered at the door That guard the lowliest of the poor.
How touching, when at midnight sweep Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark, To hear--and sink again in sleep! Or at an earlier call, to mark, By blazing fire, the still suspense Of self-complacent innocence;
The mutual nod--the grave disguise Of hearts with gladness brimming o'er, And some unhidden tears that rise For names once heard, and heard no more; Tears brightened by the serenade For infant in the cradle laid!
Ah! not for emerald fields alone, With ambient streams more pure and bright Than fabled Cytherea's zone Glittering before the Thunderer's sight, Is to my heart of hearts endeared, The ground where we were born and reared!
Hail, ancient manners! sure defence, Where they survive, of wholesome laws: Remnants of love whose modest sense Thus into narrow room withdraws; Hail, usages of pristine mould, And ye that guard them, Mountains old!
Bear with me, Brother! quench the thought That slights this passion or condemns; If thee fond fancy ever brought From the proud margin of the Thames, And Lambeth's venerable towers, To humble streams and greener bowers.
Yes, they can make, who fail to find Short leisure even in busiest days, Moments to cast a look behind, And profit by those kindly rays That through the clouds do sometimes steal, And all the far-off past reveal.
Hence, while the imperial city's din Beats frequent on thy satiate ear, A pleased attention I may win To agitations less severe, That neither overwhelm nor cloy, But fill the hollow vale with joy!
_William Wordsworth._
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
Listen, Lordings, unto me, a tale I will you tell, Which, as on this night of glee, in David's town befell. Joseph came from Nazareth, with Mary that sweet maid; Weary were they, nigh to death; and for a lodging pray'd. Sing high, sing high, sing low, sing low, Sing high, sing low, sing to and fro, Go tell it out with speed, Cry out and shout all round about, That Christ is born indeed.
In the inn they found no room; a scanty bed they made: Soon a Babe from Mary's womb was in the manger laid. Forth He came as light through glass: He came to save us all, In the stable ox and ass before their Maker fall. Sing high, sing low, etc.
Shepherds lay afield that night, to keep the silly sheep, Hosts of angels in their sight came down from heaven's high steep. Tidings! tidings! unto you: to you a Child is born, Purer than the drops of dew, and brighter than the morn. Sing high, sing low, etc.
Onward then the angels sped, the shepherds onward went, God was in His manger bed, in worship low they bent. In the morning see ye mind, my masters one and all, At the altar Him to find who lay within the stall. Sing high, sing low, etc.
_H. R. Bramley._
A CHRISTMAS BALLAD.
Outlanders, whence come ye last? _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ Through what green sea and great have ye past? _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
From far away, O masters mine, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ We come to bear you goodly wine: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
From far away we come to you, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ To tell of great tidings strange and true: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
News, news of the Trinity, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ And Mary and Joseph from over the sea: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
For as we wandered far and wide, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ What hope do ye deem there should us betide? _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
Under a bent when the night was deep, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ There lay three shepherds tending their sheep: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
"O ye shepherds, what have ye seen, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ To slay your sorrow and heal your teen?" _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
"In an ox-stall this night we saw, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ A Babe and a maid without a flaw. _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
"There was an old man there beside, _The snow in the street and the wind, on the door._ His hair was white, and his hood was wide. _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
"And as we gazed this thing upon, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ Those twain knelt down to the Little One. _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
"And a marvellous song we straight did hear, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ That slew our sorrow and healed our care." _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
News of a fair and a marvellous thing, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing! _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._
_William Morris._
A FRENCH NOËL.
(TRANSLATED FROM GUI BARÔZAI.)
I hear along our street Pass the minstrel throngs; Hark! they play so sweet, On their hautboys, Christmas songs! Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!
In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire, etc.
Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang, with many a change, Christmas carols until morn. Let us by the fire, etc.
These good people sang Songs devout and sweet; While the rafters rang There they stood with freezing feet. Let us by the fire, etc.
Nuns in frigid cells At this holy tide For want of something else Christmas songs at times have tried. Let us by the fire, etc.
Washerwomen old, To the sound they beat, Sing by rivers cold With uncovered heads and feet. Let us by the fire, etc.
Who by the fireside stands Stamps his feet and sings; But he who blows his hands Not so gay a carol brings. Let us by the fire, etc.
_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
MASTERS, IN THIS HALL.
"To Bethl'em did they go, the shepherds three; To Bethl'em 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 winds did blow. _Nowell, etc._
Shepherds many an one Sat among the sheep; No man spake more word Than they had been asleep. _Nowell, etc._
Quoth I, "Fellows mine, Why this guise sit ye? Making but dull cheer, Shepherds though ye be? _Nowell, etc._
"Shepherds should of right Leap, and dance, and sing; Thus to see you sit Is a right strange thing." _Nowell, etc._
Quoth these fellows three, "To Bethl'em town we go, To see a Mighty Lord Lie in manger low." _Nowell, etc._
"How name ye this Lord, Shepherds?" then said I. "Very God," they said, "Come from Heaven high." _Nowell, etc._
Then to Bethl'em town We went two and two, And in a sorry place Heard the oxen low. _Nowell, etc._
Therein did we see A sweet and goodly May, And a fair old man; Upon the straw she lay. _Nowell, etc._
And a little Child On her arm had she; "Wot ye who is this?" Said the hinds to me. _Nowell, etc._
Ox and ass Him know, Kneeling on their knee: Wondrous joy had I This little Babe to see. _Nowell, etc._
This is Christ the Lord: Masters, be ye glad! Christmas is come in, And no folk should be sad. _Nowell, etc._
_William Morris._
_The Worship Of The Babe._
"Rejoice, our Saviour He was born On Christmas day in the morning."
_Old Carol._
TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD; A PRESENT, BY A CHILD.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell Him by that bud now blown, He is a Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon His bib or stomacher; And tell Him, for good handsel too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of a clean, strait oaten reed To charm His cries at time of need. Tell Him for coral thou hast none, But if thou had'st He should have one; But poor thou art, and known to be Even as moneyless as He. Lastly, if thou can'st win a kiss From those mellifluous lips of His, Then never take a second on To spoil the first impression.
_Robert Herrick._
HONOR TO THE KING.
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 dais 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 honor to an earthly king, And after all our travail and our cost, So he be pleased, to think no labor 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.
_Christ Church, Oxford, MS._
NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP.
Behold a silly, 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 beast that by Him feed; Weigh not His mother's poor attire, Nor Joseph's simple weed.
This stable is a prince's court, This 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 praiséd there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight! Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp Which He from heaven doth bring.
_Robert Southwell._
OF THE EPIPHANY.
Fair eastern star, that art ordained to run Before the sages, to the rising sun, Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud: Ye heavenly bodies glory to be bright, And are esteemed as ye are rich in light; But here on earth is taught a different way, Since under this low roof the Highest lay. Jerusalem erects her stately towers, Displays her windows and adorns her bowers; Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark, Let Herod's palace still continue dark; Each school and synagogue thy force repels, There pride enthroned in misty error dwells; The temple, where the priests maintain their quire, Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire, While this weak cottage all thy splendor takes: A joyful gate of every chink it makes. Here shines no golden roof, no ivory stair, No king exalted in a stately chair, Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled, But straw and hay enwrap a speechless child. Yet Sabæ's lords before this babe unfold Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh, and gold. The crib becomes an altar; therefore dies No ox nor sheep; for in their fodder lies The Prince of Peace, who, thankful for His bed, Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed: The quintessence of earth He takes, and fees, And precious gums distilled from weeping trees; Rich metals and sweet odors now declare The glorious blessings which His laws prepare, To clear us from the base and loathsome flood Of sense and make us fit for angel's food, Who lift to God for us the holy smoke Of fervent prayers with which we Him invoke, And try our actions in the searching fire By which the seraphims our lips inspire: No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect, We shall exhale our vapors up direct: No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights deface Perpetual sighs which seek a happy place.
_Sir John Beaumont._
A HYMN FOR THE EPIPHANY.
SUNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS.
_1 King._ Bright Babe! whose awful beauties make The morn incur a sweet mistake; _2 King._ For whom the officious heavens devise To disinherit the sun's rise; _3 King._ Delicately to displace The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face; _1 King._ O Thou born King of loves! _2 King._ Of lights! _3 King._ Of joys!
_Chorus._ Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see! For love of Thee, Thus far from home The East is come To seek herself in Thy sweet eyes.
_1 King._ We who strangely went astray, Lost in a bright Meridian night; _2 King._ A darkness made of too much day; _3 King._ Beckoned from far By Thy fair star, Lo, at last have found our way.
_Chorus._ To Thee, Thou Day of Night! Thou East of West! Lo, we at last have found the way To Thee, the world's great universal East, The general and indifferent day.
_1 King._ All-circling point! all-centring sphere! The world's one round eternal year: _2 King._ Whose full and all-unwrinkled face Nor sinks nor swells with time or place; _3 King._ But everywhere and every while Is one consistent solid smile, _1 King._ Not vexed and tost, _2 King._ 'Twixt spring and frost; _3 King._ Nor by alternate shreds of light; Sordidly shifting hands with shades and night.
_Chorus._ O little All, in Thy embrace, The world lies warm and likes his place; Nor does his full globe fail to be Kissed on both his cheeks by Thee; Time is too narrow for Thy year, Nor makes the whole world Thy half-sphere.
_Richard Crashaw._
A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR.
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?
_Ben Jonson._
AT CHRISTMAS.
All after pleasures as I rid one day, My horse and I both tried, body and mind, With full cry of affections quite astray, I took up in the next inn I could find.
There, when I came, whom found I but my dear-- My dearest Lord; expecting till the grief Of pleasures brought me to Him; ready there To be all passengers' most sweet relief?
O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light, Wrapt in night's mantle, stole into a manger; Since my dark soul and brutish is Thy right, To man, of all beasts, be not Thou a stranger;
Furnish and deck my soul, that Thou may'st have A better lodging than a rock or grave.
The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be? My God, no hymn for Thee? My soul's a shepherd too; a flock it feeds Of thoughts and words and deeds; The pasture is Thy word, the stream Thy grace, Enriching every place.
Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers Outsing the daylight hours. Then we will chide the sun for letting night Take up his place and right: We sing one common Lord; wherefore He should Himself the candle hold.
I will go searching till I find a sun Shall stay till we have done; A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly As frost-nipt suns look sadly, Then we will sing and shine all our own day, And one another pay.
His beams shall cheer my breast; and both so twine, Till ev'n his beams sing and my music shine.
_George Herbert._
NEW HEAVEN, NEW WAR.
Come to your heaven, you heavenly quires! Earth hath the heaven of your desires; Remove your dwelling to your God, A stall is now His blest abode; Sith men their homage do deny, Come, angels, all their fault supply.