Christmas in Poetry

The flags stand in the frozen mere.

The mistletoe we still adore
Upon the twisted hawthorn grows:
In antique gardens hellebore
Puts forth its blushing Christmas rose.

Shrivell’d and purple, cheek by jowl,
The hips and haws hang drearily;
Roll’d in a ball the sulky owl
Creeps far into his hollow tree.

In abbeys and cathedrals dim
The birth of Christ is acted o’er;
The kings of Cologne worship him,
Balthazar, Jasper, Melchior.

The shepherds in the field at night
Beheld an angel glory-clad.
And shrank away with sore afright.
“Be not afraid,” the angel bade.

“I bring good news to king and clown,
To you here crouching on the sward;
For there is born in David’s town
A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

“Behold the babe is swathed, and laid
Within a manger.” Straight there stood
Beside the angel all arrayed
A heavenly multitude.

“Glory to God,” they sang; “and peace,
Good pleasure among men.”
The wondrous message of release!
Glory to God again!

Hush! Hark! the waits, far up the street!
A distant, ghostly charm unfolds,
Of magic music wild and sweet,
Anemones and clarigolds.

    John Davidson
From “Fleet Street Eclogues.” Included by permission of Dodd, Mead and Company.

CAROL OF THE BIRDS

Whence comes this rush of wings afar.
Following straight the Noël star?
Birds from the woods in wondrous flight,
Bethlehem seek this Holy Night.

“Tell us, ye birds, why come ye here.
Into this stable, poor and drear?”
“Hast’ning we seek the new-born King,
And all our sweetest music bring.”

Hark how the green-finch bears his part,
Philomel, too, with tender heart,
Chants from her leafy dark retreat
Re, mi, fa, sol, in accents sweet.

Angels and shepherds, birds of the sky,
Come where the Son of God doth lie;
Christ on the earth with man doth dwell.
Join in the shout, Noël, Noël.

    Bas-Quercy

THE SHEPHERDS HAD AN ANGEL

The shepherds had an angel,
The wise men had a star;
But what have I, a little child,
To guide me home from far,
Where glad stars sing together,
And singing angels are?

Lord Jesus is my Guardian,
So I can nothing lack;
The lambs lie in His bosom
Along life’s dangerous track:
The wilful lambs that go astray
He, bleeding, brings them back.

Those shepherds thro’ the lonely night
Sat watching by their sheep,
Until they saw the heav’nly host
Who neither tire nor sleep,
All singing Glory, glory,
In festival they keep.

Christ watches me, His little lamb,
Cares for me day and night,
That I may be His own in heav’n;
So angels clad in white
Shall sing their Glory, glory,
For my sake in the height.

Lord, bring me nearer day by day,