Chapter 3
This little Babe, so few days old, Is come to rifle Satan's fold; All hell doth at His presence quake, Though He himself for cold do shake; For in this weak, unarméd wise The gates of hell He will surprise.
My soul, with Christ join thou in fight; Stick to the tents that He hath pight; Within His crib is surest ward, This little Babe will be thy guard; If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy, Then flit not from this heavenly Boy.
_Robert Southwell._
FOR CHRISTMAS DAY.
Rejoice, rejoice, with heart and voice! In Christé's birth this day rejoice! From Virgin's womb this day did spring The precious seed that only savéd man; This day let man rejoice and sweetly sing, Since on this day salvation first began. This day did Christ man's soul from death remove, With glorious saints to dwell in heaven above.
This day to man came pledge of perfect peace, This day to man came perfect unity, This day man's grief began for to surcease, This day did man receive a remedy For each offence and every deadly sin, With guilty heart that erst he wandered in.
In Christé's flock let love be surely placed, From Christé's flock let concord hate expel, Of Christé's flock let love be so embraced As we in Christ and Christ in us may dwell; Christ is the author of all unity, From whence proceedeth all felicity.
O sing unto this glittering, glorious king, O praise His name let every living thing; Let heart and voice, like bells of silver, ring The comfort that this day doth bring; Let lute, let shawm, with sound of sweet delight, The joy of Christé's birth this day recite.
_Francis Kinwelmersh, A.D. 1576._
SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL.
_Chor._--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 Awake! the while the active finger Runs divisions with the singer.
_From the flourish they come to the song._
Dark and dull night, fly hence away, And give the honor to this day, That sees December turn'd 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 life and lustre public mirth To heaven and the under-earth.
_Chor._--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.
_Chor._--Which we will give Him; and bequeath This holly and this ivy wreath, To do Him honor, who's our King, And Lord of all this revelling.
_Robert Herrick._
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 splendor, 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 displayed, And the world's foundation laid, From the world's almost exiled, Of all ornaments despoiled. 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, obeyed? These, ah! these aside He laid; Would the emblem be--of pride By humility outvied?
_Sir Edward Sherburne._
THE BURNING BABE.
As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear, Who, scorchéd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed. Alas! quoth he, but newly born in fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I. My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns: Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns: The fuel justice layeth on, and mercy blows the coals; The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiléd souls; For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood. With that he vanish'd out of sight and swiftly shrunk away. And straight I calléd unto mind that it was Christmas Day.
_Robert Southwell._
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._
AN ODE ON THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR.
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.
The Jews they did disdain Thee, But we will entertain Thee With glories to await here Upon Thy princely state here; And, more for love than pity, From year to year We'll make Thee here A free-born of our city.
_Robert Herrick._
WHO CAN FORGET?
Who can forget--never to be forgot-- The time, that all the world in slumber lies, When, like the stars, the singing angels shot To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes To see another sun at midnight rise On earth? Was never sight of pareil fame For God before, man like himself did frame, But God himself now like a mortal man became.
A child He was, and had not learnt to speak, That with His word the world before did make; His mother's arms Him bore, He was so weak, That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake; See how small room my infant Lord doth take, Whom all the world is not enough to hold! Who of His years or of His age hath told? Never such age so young, never a child so old.
And yet but newly He was infanted, And yet already He was sought to die; Yet scarcely born, already banished; Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: But scarcely fled away, when by and by The tyrant's sword with blood is all defiled, And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild, Cries, "O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest Child!"
Egypt His nurse became, where Nilus springs, Who, straight to entertain the rising sun, The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; But now for drought the fields were all undone, And now with waters all is overrun: So fast the Cynthian mountains pour'd their snow, When once they felt the sun so near them glow, That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow.
The angels carolled loud their song of peace; The cursed oracles were strucken dumb; To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press; To see their King, the kingly sophies[S] come; And them to guide unto his Master's home, A star comes dancing up the orient, That springs for joy over the strawy tent, Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present.
_Giles Fletcher._
FOOTNOTE:
[S] Wise men.
THE CHILD JESUS.
A CORNISH CAROL.
Welcome that star in Judah's sky, That voice o'er Bethlehem's palmy glen! The lamp far sages hailed on high, The tones that thrilled the shepherd men: Glory to God in loftiest heaven! Thus angels smote the echoing chord; Glad tidings unto man forgiven, Peace from the presence of the Lord.
The Shepherds sought that birth divine, The Wise Men traced their guided way; There, by strange light and mystic sign, The God they came to worship lay. A human Babe in beauty smiled, Where lowing oxen round Him trod: A maiden clasped her awful Child, Pure offspring of the breath of God.
Those voices from on high are mute, The star the Wise Men saw is dim; But hope still guides the wanderer's foot, And faith renews the angel hymn: Glory to God in loftiest heaven! Touch with glad hand the ancient chord; Good tidings unto man forgiven, Peace from the presence of the Lord.
_Robert Stephen Hawker._
LONG AGO.
In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.
Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, Nor earth sustain; Heaven and earth shall flee away When He comes to reign: In the bleak mid-winter A stable-place sufficed The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him whom cherubim Worship night and day, A breastful of milk And a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him whom angels Fall down before, The ox and ass and camel Which adore.
Angels and archangels May have gathered there, Cherubim and seraphim Thronged the air; But only His mother, In her maiden bliss, Worshipped the Beloved With a kiss.
What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; If I were a wise man, I would do my part: Yet what I can I give Him, Give my heart.
_Christina G. Rossetti._
STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
When marshalled on the nightly plain The glitt'ring host bestud the sky, One star alone of all the train Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks From ev'ry host, from ev'ry gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks,-- It is the Star of Bethlehem!
Once on the raging seas I rode; The storm was loud, the night was dark; The ocean yawned, and rudely blew The wind that tossed my found'ring bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze; Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem, When suddenly a star arose,-- It was the Star of Bethlehem!
It was my guide, my light, my all; It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moored, my perils o'er, I'll sing first in night's diadem, Forever and forever more,-- The Star, the Star of Bethlehem!
_Henry Kirke White._
NO ROOM.
Foot-sore and weary, Mary tried Some rest to seek, but was denied. "There is no room," the blind ones cried.
Meekly the Virgin turned away, No voice entreating her to stay; There was no room for God that day.
No room for her, round whose tired feet Angels are bowed in transport sweet The mother of their God to greet.
No room for Him in whose small hand The troubled sea and mighty land Lie cradled like a grain of sand;
No room, O Babe Divine! for Thee That Christmas night; and even we Dare shut our hearts and turn the key.
In vain Thy pleading baby cry Strikes our deaf souls; we pass Thee by, Unsheltered 'neath the wintry sky.
No room for God! O Christ, that we Should bar our doors, nor ever see Our Saviour waiting patiently.
Fling wide the doors! Dear Christ, turn back! The ashes on my hearth lie black-- Of light and warmth a total lack.
How can I bid Thee enter here Amid the desolation drear Of lukewarm love and craven fear?
What bleaker shelter can there be Than my cold heart's tepidity-- Chilled, wind-tossed, as the winter sea?
Dear Lord, I shrink from Thy pure eye, No home to offer Thee have I; Yet in Thy mercy pass not by.
_Agnes Repplier._
ON CHRISTMAS DAY.
Assist me, Muse divine! to Sing the Morn On which the Saviour of Mankind was born; But oh! what Numbers to the Theme can rise? Unless kind Angels aid me from the Skies! Methinks I see the tunefull Host descend, And with officious Joy the Scene attend! Hark, by their Hymns directed on the Road, The Gladsome Shepherds find the nascent God! And view the Infant conscious of his Birth, Smiling bespeak Salvation to the Earth! For when th' important Æra first drew near In which the great Messiah should appear; And to accomplish his redeeming Love; Beneath our Form should every Woe sustain, And by triumphant Suffering fix his Reign, Should for lost Man in Tortures yield his Breath Dying to save us from eternal Death! Oh mystick union!--salutary Grace! Incarnate God our Nature should embrace! That Deity should stoop to our Disguise! That man recover'd should regain the Skies! Dejected Adam! from thy grave ascend, And view the Serpent's Deadly Malice end, Adorning bless th' Almighty's boundless Grace That gave his son a Ransome for thy Race! Oh never let my Soul this Day forget, But pay in gratefull praise the annual Debt.
_From a manuscript volume, written by George Washington._
THE HEAVENLY CHOIR.
What sudden blaze of song Spreads o'er th' expanse of heaven? In waves of light it thrills along, Th' angelic signal given-- "Glory to God!" from yonder central fire Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry quire;
Like circles widening round Upon a clear blue river, Orb after orb, the wondrous sound Is echoed on forever; "Glory to God on high, on earth be peace, And love toward men of love--salvation and release."
Yet stay, before thou dare To join that festal throng; Listen and mark what gentle air First stirred the tide of song; 'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's home, To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:"
'Tis not "the Christ the Lord:"-- With fix'd adoring look The choir of angels caught the word, Nor yet their silence broke; But when they heard the sign, where Christ should be, In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.
Wrapped in His swaddling-bands, And in His manger laid, The hope and glory of all lands Is come to the world's aid: No peaceful home upon His cradle smiled, Guests rudely went and came where slept the royal Child.
But where Thou dwellest, Lord, No other thought should be; Once duly welcomed and adored, How should I part with Thee? Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace The single heart to be Thy pure abiding-place.
Thee, on the bosom laid Of a pure virgin mind, In quiet ever, and in shade, Shepherd and sage may find; They who have bow'd untaught to nature's sway, And they who follow truth along her star-paved way.
The pastoral spirits first Approach Thee, Babe divine, For they in lowly thoughts are nursed, Meet for Thy lowly shrine: Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell, Angels from heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.
Still, as the day comes round For Thee to be revealed, By wakeful shepherds Thou art found, Abiding in the field. All through the wintry heaven and chill night air, In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.
O faint not ye for fear-- What though your wandering sheep, Reckless of what they see and hear, Lie lost in wilful sleep? High heaven in mercy to your sad annoy Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.
Think on th' eternal home The Saviour left for you; Think on the Lord most holy, come To dwell with hearts untrue: So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways, And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.
_John Keble._
_The Wassail-Bowl._
"Wassail, wassail, all over the town; Our toast it is white, our ale it is brown, Our bowl it is made of the mapling tree; With the wassailing bowl we will drink to thee."
_Old Carol._
WASSAIL.
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in.
May both with manchet[T] stand replete, Your larders, too, so hung with meat, That though a thousand thousand eat,
Yet ere twelve moons shall whirl about Their silvery spheres, there's none may doubt But more's sent in than was served out.
Next, may your dairies prosper so As that your pans no ebb may know; But if they do, the more to flow,
Like to a solemn, sober stream, Banked all with lilies, and the cream Of sweetest cowslips filling them.
Then may your plants be pressed with fruit, Nor bee or hive you have be mute, But sweetly sounding like a lute.
Last, may your harrows, shares, and ploughs, Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows, All prosper by your virgin vows.
Alas! we bless, but see none here, That brings us either ale or beer; In a dry house all things are near.
Let's leave a longer time to wait, Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate; And all live here with needy fate;
Where chimneys do forever weep For want of warmth, and stomachs keep With noise the servants' eyes from sleep.
It is in vain to sing or stay Our free feet here, but we'll away; Yet to the Lares this we'll say:
The time will come when you'll be sad, And reckon this for fortune bad, T' have lost the good ye might have had.
_Robert Herrick._
FOOTNOTE:
[T] White bread.
INVITATION À FAIRE NOËL.
(FROM THE FRENCH OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY.)
Hail, good Masters, let us bide, Hither come from travel wide, This Christmas-tide. Hearken, give us bed and cheer, We are weary, life is dear This day o' the year! God send ye joy and peace on earth, Who broach good cheer for Christé's birth.
Masters, an ye make no feast: Spicéd ale and meat of beast, Nor laugh the least: If ye fill not pantries high With bread, and fish, and mammoth pie, And sweets, pardie!-- God ordains no peace on earth To ye who fast at Christé's birth.
Masters, it is writ of old Who fill the fire for Christmas cold And wassail hold, Shall have of food a double store And ruddy-blazing ingle roar Forevermore. God sends the peace of heaven and earth To men who carol Christé's birth.
O Masters! let nor hate nor spite Mar the tongue of any wight 'Twixt night and night. _Botun, batun_--belabor well Churls who sleep through matin bell And no soothe tell. God will forfeit peace on earth If men fall out at Christé's birth.
Christmas tipples every wine, English, French, and Gascon fine And Angevine; Clinks with neighbor and with guest, Empties casks with gibe and jest-- The year's for rest! God sends to men the joy of earth Who broach good cheer for Christé's birth.
But hearken, Masters, ere ye drink While yet the bubbles boil and wink At the brink; Ere ye lift the pot aloft, Merrily wave it, laughing oft, With hood well doft. And if I cry ye, sad, "Wesseyl!" Woe's him who answers not "Drinchayl!"
_Translated by H. S. M._
A THANKSGIVING.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is Thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee; The worts, the purslane, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent; And my content Makes those and my belovéd beet To be more sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink Spiced to the brink.
_Robert Herrick._
AROUND THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
A jolly wassail-bowl, A wassail of good ale; Well fare the butler's soul That setteth this to sale; Our jolly wassail.
Good dame, here at your door Our wassail we begin, We are all maidens poor, We pray now let us in With our wassail.
Our wassail we do fill With apples and with spice, Then grant us your good-will To taste here once or twice Of our good wassail.
If any maidens be Here dwelling in this house, They kindly will agree To take a full carouse Of our wassail.
But here they let us stand All freezing in the cold: Good master, give command To enter and be bold, With our wassail.
Much joy into this hall With us is entered in, Our master first of all We hope will now begin Of our wassail.
And after, his good wife Our spicéd bowl will try; The Lord prolong your life! Good fortune we espy For our wassail.
Some bounty from your hands Our wassail to maintain; We'll buy no house nor lands With that which we do gain With our wassail.
This is our merry night Of choosing king and queen; Then be it your delight That something may be seen In our wassail.
It is a noble part To bear a liberal mind; God bless our master's heart! For here we comfort find With our wassail.
And now we must be gone To seek out more good cheer, Where bounty will be shown As we have found it here With our wassail.
Much joy betide them all, Our prayer shall be still, We hope and ever shall For this your great good-will To our wassail.
FROM DOOR TO DOOR.
Here we come a wassailing Among the leaves so green, Here we come a wand'ring, So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too, And God bless you and send you a happy New Year.
Our wassail-cup is made Of the rosemary tree, And so is your beer Of the best barley. Love and joy, etc.
We are not daily beggars That beg from door to door, But we are neighbors' children Whom you have seen before. Love and joy, etc.
Good master and good mistress, As you sit by the fire, Pray think of us poor children As wand'ring in the mire. Love and joy, etc.
We have a little purse Made of ratching leather skin; We want some of your small change To line it well within. Love and joy, etc.