Chapter M: Nightingale

BETHLEHEM

There man was all too marred with sin,
The ass, the ox were bidden in.

Where angels were unmeet to come
These humble entered Holydom.

Their innocent eyes and full of awe
Saw the fulfilment of the law.

There in the stable with the beast
The Christmas Child hath spread His feast.

These gave their bed and eke their board
To be a cradle for their Lord.

Their honey-breath, their tears all mild,
Warmed in the cold the new-born Child.

These His adorers were before
The Kings and Shepherds thronged the door.

And where no angels knelt there kneeled
The innocent creatures of the field.

O simple ones, much honourèd;
He who oppresses you indeed

Oppresses His kind hosts that lay
Once in the stable on the hay.

KATHARINE TYNAN

WAITING FOR THE KINGS

Over the frozen plain snow-white
The three Kings will come tonight;
We shall know by the kettle-drums
Which way the procession comes.

They have come from very far,
Following fast behind a Star,
In their shimmering robes of silk,
Riding horses white as milk.

They bring thro’ the starlit dark
Gold once hid in Noë’s Ark;
They bear over snow and ice
Bags of musk and myrrh and spice.

They have brought from the warm countree
Cloves like nails from a blossoming tree,
Flowers of a branch of a Tree that grew
In Eden when the world was new.

They have heard of a wondrous thing,
That here is born a little King;
They bring treasures of great worth
To the Treasure of the earth.

When we see the Kings ride past,
Thro’ the silence white and vast,
In the night will bloom, methinks,
Velvet roses and striped pinks.

When we see them all aglow
Riding over leagues of snow,
In their robes of red and gold,
We shall never feel the cold.

We will print upon the gifts
They have borne thro’ the snow-drifts,
Thro’ the bitter weather wild,
Kisses for the little Child.

R. L. GALES

BEHOLD A SILLY TENDER BABE

Behold a silly tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies
Alas! a piteous sight.

The inns are full, no man will yield
This little Pilgrim bed;
But forced He is with silly beasts
In crib to shroud His head.

Despise Him not for lying there,
First what He is inquire;
An orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,
Nor beasts that by Him feed;
Weigh not His mother’s poor attire,
Nor Joseph’s simple weed.

This stable is a prince’s court,
This crib His chair of state;
The beasts are parcel of His pomp,
The wooden dish His plate.

* * * * *

With joy approach, O Christian Wight!
Do homage to thy King;
And highly praise this humble pomp
Which He from heaven doth bring.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the Kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world’s desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary’s knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him
And all the stars looked down.

G. K. CHESTERTON

EX ORE INFANTIUM

Little Jesus, wast Thou shy
Once, and just so small as I?
And what did it feel like to be
Out of Heaven, and just like me?
Didst Thou sometimes think of _there_.
And ask where all the angels were?
I should think that I would cry
For my house all made of sky;
I would look about the air,
And wonder where my angels were;
And at waking ’twould distress me—
Not an angel there to dress me!

Hadst Thou ever any toys,
Like us little girls and boys?
And didst Thou play in Heaven with all
The angels, that were not too tall,
With stars for marbles? Did the things
Play _Can you see me?_ through their wings?
And did Thy Mother let Thee spoil
Thy robes, with playing on our _soil_?
How nice to have them always new
In Heaven, because ’twas quite clean blue.

Didst Thou kneel at night to pray,
And didst Thou join Thy hands, this way?
And did they tire sometimes, being young,
And make the prayer seem very long?
And dost Thou like it best, that we
Should join our hands to pray to Thee?
I used to think, before I knew,
The prayer not said unless we do.
And did Thy Mother at the night
Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right?
And didst Thou feel quite good in bed,
Kiss’d, and sweet, and Thy prayers said?

Thou canst not have forgotten all
That it feels like to be small:
And Thou know’st I cannot pray
To Thee in my father’s way—
When Thou wast so little, say,
Couldst Thou talk Thy Father’s way?—
So, a little Child, come down
And hear a child’s tongue like Thy own;
Take me by the hand and walk,
And listen to my baby-talk.
To Thy Father show my prayer
(He will look, Thou art so fair),
And say: “O Father, I, thy Son,
Bring the prayer of a little one.”

And He will smile, that children’s tongue
Has not changed since Thou wast young!

FRANCIS THOMPSON

A SONG OF CHRISTMAS

The Christmas moon shines clear and bright;
There were poor travellers such a night
Had neither fire nor candle-light.

One plucked them stars out of the sky
To show the road to travel by;
So that the Ass go warily.

She had all Heaven safe in her hold,
Hidden within her mantle’s fold—
All Heaven, and It was one hour old.

Her hair under, over Him spread
His spun-gold coverlet and His bed,
Twined with His little golden head.

She sang and rocked Him to-and-fro
Such songs as little babies know,
With Lullaby Sweet, and Lullalo.

He had no need of moons and suns,
Nor the gold-crested bird-legions,
Singing their lauds and orisons.

The Christmas moon shows a cold beam;
He hath His Mother, she hath Him:
Together they sleep, together dream.

KATHARINE TYNAN

THE HOLLY AND THE IVY

The holly and the ivy,
Now are both well grown.
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown.

The holly bears a blossom
As white as the lily flower,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To be our sweet Saviour.

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good.

The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.

The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.

The holly and the ivy
Now are both well grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown.

TRADITIONAL

A CRADLE HYMN

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.

* * * * *

How much better thou’rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven He descended
And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle:
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When His birthplace was a stable
And His softest bed was hay.

* * * * *

See the kinder shepherds round Him,
Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they sought Him, there they found Him,
With His Virgin Mother by.

See the lovely babe adressing;
Lovely infant, how He smiled!
When He wept, the Mother’s blessing
Soothed and hush’d the holy child.

Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
Where the hornèd oxen fed:
Peace, my darling; here’s no danger,
Here’s no ox anear thy bed.

ISAAC WATTS

BEFORE DAWN

Dim-berried is the mistletoe
With globes of sheenless grey,
The holly mid ten thousand thorns
Smolders its fires away;
And in the manger Jesu sleeps
This Christmas Day.

Bull unto bull with hollow throat
Makes echo every hill,
Cold sheep in pastures thick with snow
The air with bleatings fill;
While of His Mother’s heart this Babe
Takes His sweet will.

All flowers and butterflies lie hid,
The blackbird and the thrush
Pipe but a little as they flit
Restless from bush to bush;
Even to the robin Gabriel hath
Cried softly, “Hush!”

Now night is astir with burning stars
In darkness of the snow;
Burdened with frankincense and myrrh
And gold the Strangers go
Into a dusk where one dim lamp
Burns faintly, Lo!

No snowdrop yet its small head nods,
In winds of winter drear;
No lark at casement in the sky
Sings matins shrill and clear;
Yet in this frozen mirk the Dawn
Breathes, Spring is here!

WALTER DE LA MARE

THE WAITS

There were sparkles on the window-pane and sparkles in the sky,
The moon it sparkled like a star above the world so high,
There was star-shine on the ceiling, there was star-shine on the bed,
There was star-shine in my eyes, I think, and star-shine in my head.

I clambered from my sleep, I did; I flung the window wide,
I wanted all that waited in the Christmas Eve outside,
I wanted for myself to hear the Christmas people sing,
I wanted for myself to hear the Christmas joy-bells ring.

And there outside were waiting three grey Shepherds in the snow,
(I knew that they were Shepherds, for they all had crooks, you know,)
And when they saw me waiting too they sang to me a song—
The stars, they caught and whispered it the whole wide sky along.

And then the Shepherds went their way and three black camels came,
They stayed beneath the window there and waited just the same,
And each black camel on his back had brought an Eastern King,
And though each King was very great each had a song to sing.

They sang it as the Shepherds sang, a little low sweet song,—
The white stars caught and whispered it the whole wide sky along;
And then the camels went their way, I watched them down the street,
The snow lay white and soft and still beneath their silent feet.

There was singing in the tree-tops, there was singing in the sky,
The moon was singing to the clouds above the world so high,
And all the stars were singing too and when I looked below,
I saw a little, tiny Child was waiting in the snow.

And first I watched him wait there—watched and only waved my hand,
For though the song was in my heart I did not understand,
Until at last it burst in words, because at last I knew,
And then he looked at me and laughed and sang the star-song too.

And right across the misty fields I heard the church bells ring,
The star-song echoed far and wide for all the world to sing,
But still the tiny Child stood there—the Child that once was born—
We sang His birthday song—we did—upon His Christmas morn.