Chapter M: Nightingale

IN PRÆSEPIO

In stable straw the Infant lay,
Turned from the hostelry away,
There was no room its doors within,
For Him Who is the whole world’s Inn.

Creation sang, no longer dumb,
Because her great Desire was come;
The sad earth in His joy had part,
Who bore her sorrow in His Heart.

The Angels danced, the Shepherds piped,
Because earth’s tears away were wiped;
The Ox and Ass adoring saw
The Infant lying in the straw.

R. L. GALES

WHEN CHRIST WAS BORN

When Christ was born of Mary free,
In Bethlehem in that fair citie,
Angels sang there with mirth and glee,
_In Excelsis Gloria!_

Herdsmen beheld these angels bright,
To them appearing with great light,
Who said, “God’s Son is born this night,”
_In Excelsis Gloria!_

This King is come to save mankind,
As in Scripture truths we find,
Therefore this song have we in mind,
_In Excelsis Gloria!_

Then, dear Lord, for Thy great grace,
Grant us the bliss to see Thy face,
That we may sing to Thy solace,
_In Excelsis Gloria!_

TRADITIONAL

THE CAROL OF THE POOR CHILDREN

We are the poor children, come out to see the sights
On this day of all days, on this night of nights,
The stars in merry parties are dancing in the sky,
A fine star, a new star, is shining on high!

We are the poor children, our lips are frosty blue,
We cannot sing our carol as well as rich folk do,
Our bellies are so empty we have no singing voice,
But this night of all nights good children must rejoice.

We do rejoice, we do rejoice, as hard as we can try,
A fine star, a new star is shining in the sky!
And while we sing our carol, we think of the delight
The happy kings and shepherds make in Bethlehem to-night.

Are we naked, mother, and are we starving poor—
Oh, see what gifts the kings have brought outside the stable door,
Are we cold, mother, the ass will give his hay
To make the manger warm and keep the cruel winds away.

We are the poor children, but not so poor who sing
Our carol with our voiceless hearts to greet the new-born king,
On this night of all nights, when in the frosty sky
A new star, a kind star, is shining on high!

RICHARD MIDDLETON

STAR OF THE EAST

Star of the East, that long ago
Brought wise men on their way
Where, angels singing to and fro,
The Child of Bethlehem lay—
Above that Syrian hill afar
Thou shinest out to-night, O Star!

Star of the East, the night were drear
But for the tender grace
That with thy glory comes to cheer
Earth’s loneliest, darkest place;
For by that charity we see
Where there is hope for all and me.

Star of the East! show us the way
In wisdom undefiled
To seek that manger out and lay
Our gifts before the Child—
To bring our hearts and offer them
Unto our King in Bethlehem!

EUGENE FIELD

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Before the paling of the stars,
Before the winter morn,
Before the earliest cock-crow,
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable,
Cradled in a manger,
In the world His Hands had made
Born a stranger.

Priest and King lay fast asleep
In Jerusalem,
Young and old lay fast asleep
In crowded Bethlehem:
Saint and angel, ox and ass,
Kept a watch together
Before the Christmas daybreak
In the winter weather.

Jesus on His mother’s breast
In the stable cold,
Spotless Lamb of God was He,
Shepherd of the Fold:
Let us kneel with Mary Maid,
With Joseph bent and hoary,
With saint and angel, ox and ass,
To hail the King of Glory.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

YULE-TIDE FIRES

Cleanse with the burning log of oak
The canker of thy care,
Deck with the scarlet-berried bough
The temple of the fair;
Spread pure-white linen for a feast,
Perchance some guest may share.

Give forth thy gold and silver coins,
For they were lent to thee;
Put out to usury thy dross,
One talent gaineth three.
Perchance the hungered and the poor
May pray to God for thee.

Once a pale star rose in the East
For watching herds to see,
And weakness came to Bethlehem,
And strength to Galilee.
Perchance! if thou dost keep thy tryst
A star may rise for thee.

ANONYMOUS

SIX GREEN SINGERS

The frost of the moon fell over my floor
And six green singers stood at my door.

“What do ye here that music make?”
“Let us come in for Christ’s sweet Sake.”

“Long have ye journeyed in coming here?”
“Our Pilgrimage was the length of the year.”

“Where do ye make for?” I asked of them.
“Our Shrine is a Stable in Bethlehem.”

“What will ye do as ye go along?”
“Sing to the world an ever-green song.”

“What will ye sing for the listening earth?”
“One will sing of a brave-souled Mirth,

“One of the Holiest Mystery,
The Glory of glories shall one song be,

“One of the Memory of things,
One of the Child’s imaginings,

“One of our songs is the fadeless Faith,
And all are the Life more mighty than death.”

“Ere ye be gone that music make,
Give me an alms for Christ’s sweet Sake.”

“Six green branches we leave with you;
See they be scattered your house-place through.

“The staunch blithe Holly your board shall grace,
Mistletoe bless your chimney place,

“Laurel to crown your lighted hall,
Over your bed let the Yew-bough fall,

“Close by the cradle the Christmas Fir,
For elfin dreams in its branches stir,

“Last and loveliest, high and low,
From ceil to floor let the Ivy go.”

From each glad guest I received my gift
And then the latch of my door did lift—

“Green singers, God prosper the song ye make
As ye sing to the world for Christ’s sweet Sake.”

ELEANOR FARJEON

THAT HOLY KING

They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high:
Thou cam’st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

O Son of Man, to right my lot
Naught but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea Thy sail!

My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down thine own secret stair,
That Thou mayst answer all my need—
Yea, every bygone prayer.

GEORGE MACDONALD

CHRISTMAS

A boy was born at Bethlehem
that knew the haunts of Galilee.
He wandered on Mount Lebanon,
and learned to love each forest tree.

But I was born at Marlborough,
and love the homely faces there;
and for all other men besides
’tis little love I have to spare.

I should not mind to die for them,
my own dear downs, my comrades true.
But that great heart of Bethlehem,
he died for men he never knew.

And yet, I think, at Golgotha,
as Jesus’ eyes were closed in death,
they saw with love most passionate
the village street at Nazareth.

E. HILTON YOUNG

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 the Rose of Sharon known:
When thou hast said so, stick it there
Upon his bib, or stomacher:
And tell Him, (for good handsell too)
That thou hast bought 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.

ROBERT HERRICK

AN ODE TO 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.

* * * * *

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

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

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!

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

ROBERT HERRICK

THE OXEN

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If some one said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom
Hoping it might be so.

THOMAS HARDY