Chapter III: A Childermas Rhyme

Babes in the wood
Babes in the tower,
Babes killed at Childermas
In an evil hour,
Babe safe in Egypt
From the tyrant’s power,

Wicked uncles, wicked kings,
Robbers counting chains and rings,
Wicked kings who killed for greed,
A good thief who stole for need,
Herod gone and Crookback sped,
The old villainous uncle dead,
When the Babe is crowned a King
That good thief will find his meed
In a green place where robins sing,
Where the holy babes and meek
In the wood play hide-and-seek.

R. L. GALES

CRADLE HYMN

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the bright sky looked down where He lay—
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.

The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying He makes.
I love Thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me for ever and love me, I pray;
Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care,
And fit us for Heaven, to live with Thee there.

MARTIN LUTHER

A SONG FOR THE SEASON

The Kings to the Stable
They brought sweet spice,
The gold and the silver,
And jewels of price.

But the Dove by the manger
She would not cease
Mourning so softly:
Bring Him Peace; bring Him Peace!

The Kings from the Orient
Brought nard and clove.
The Dove went mourning:
Bring Him Love; Bring Him Love.

What would content Him
In silver and gold,—
A new-born Baby
But one hour old?

Not myrrh shall please Him
Nor the ambergris,
What hath sweet savour
Of His mother’s kiss?

There is clash of battle,
And men hate and slay:
From the noise and the tumult
She hides Him away.

But His sleep is fitful
In His Mother’s breast,
The Dove goes mourning:
Give Him rest; give Him rest!

KATHARINE TYNAN

IN THE NIGHT

“Who is crying in the night
At my nursery door?
What’s that pretty shining light
On the nursery floor?”

Mary in her little bed
Rises up to see.
“Jesus, is it you?” she said:
“Come and talk to me.”

Nothing stirred: then out she creeps,
Down the winding stair.
All is dark; the household sleeps.
Jesus isn’t there.

Out into the winter night,
Barefoot she must go,
In her cotton night-gown white,
Through the glistening snow.

Through the garden fast she goes,
Through the stable yard:
Yes, the manger’s here, she knows.
Oh! the door is barred!

Then there came an Angel bright,
Drew away the pin;
All the place was full of light,
As she flitted in.

There, within the stall, He lay!
And the Ox and Ass
Gently moved a little way
Just to let her pass.

And on little Mary, sweet
Mother Mary smiled,
As she kissed the hands and feet
Of the Holy Child.

Ah! He fades! He is not here!
Whither has He flown?
Wake, Miss Mary, wake my dear!
Mary’s all alone.

Nurse is standing by the bed,
In the morning grey:
“You’ve been dreaming, dear,” she said.
“And it’s Christmas Day.”