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 midwinter 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.
This poem is in the public domain.
Pax hominibus bonae voluntatis A frosty Christmas Eve when the stars were shining Fared I forth alone where westward falls the hill, And from many a village in the water'd valley Distant music reach'd me peals of bells aringing: The constellated sounds ran sprinkling on earth's floor As the dark vault above with stars was spangled o'er. Then sped my thoughts to keep that first Christmas of all When the shepherds watching by their folds ere the dawn Heard music in the fields and marveling could not tell Whether it were angels or the bright stars singing. Now blessed be the tow'rs that crown England so fair That stand up strong in prayer unto God for our souls Blessed be their founders (said I) an' our country folk Who are ringing for Christ in the belfries to-night With arms lifted to clutch the rattling ropes that race Into the dark above and the mad romping din. But to me heard afar it was starry music Angels' song, comforting as the comfort of Christ When he spake tenderly to his sorrowful flock: The old words came to me by the riches of time Mellow'd and transfigured as I stood on the hill Heark'ning in the aspect of th' eternal silence.
This poem is in the public domain.
So now is come our joyful feast, Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry. Now all our neighbors' chimnies smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with baked meats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry. Now every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labor; Our lasses have provided them A bagpipe and a tabor. Young men and maids, and girls and boys, Give life to one another's joys; And you anon shall by their noise Perceive that they are merry. Rank misers now do sparing shun, Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, So all things aboundeth. The country-folk themselves advance, For crowdy-mutton's come out of France; And Jack shall pipe and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry. Ned Swatch hath fetched his bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn With droppings of the barrel. And those that hardly all the year Had bread to eat or rags to wear, Will have both clothes and dainty fare, And all the day be merry. Now poor men to the justices With capons make their errands; And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants. But now they feed them with good cheer, And what they want they take in beer, For Christmas comes but once a year, And then they shall be merry. Good farmers in the country nurse The poor, that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse, On lust and pride at London. There the roisters they do play, Drab and dice their land away, Which may be ours another day; And therefore let's be merry. The client now his suit forbears, The prisoner's heart is eased; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleased. Though others' purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that; Hang sorrow, care will kill a cat, And therefore let's be merry. Hark how the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling; Anon you'll see them in the hall, For nuts and apples scrambling; Hark how the roofs with laughters sound, Anon they'll think the house goes round; For they the cellar's depths have found, And there they will be merry. The wenches with their wassail-bowls About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls, The wild mare in is bringing. Our kitchen boy hath broke his box, And to the dealing of the ox Our honest neighbors come by flocks, And here they will be merry. Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have, And mate with everybody; The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play at noddy. Some youths will now a mumming go, Some others play at rowland-hoe, And twenty other gameboys moe; Because they will be merry. Then wherefore in these merry days Should we, I pray, be duller? No, let us sing some roundelays To make our mirth the fuller. And whilst we thus inspired sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring; Woods, and hills, and everything Bear witness we are merry.
This poem is in the public domain.