The Home Book of Verse Volume I Part 47

Phillips Brooks [1835-1893]

A CHRISTMAS HYMN Old Style: 1837

It was the calm and silent night!

Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was Queen of land and sea.

No sound was heard of clas.h.i.+ng wars; Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.

'Twas in the calm and silent night!

The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home.

Triumphal arches gleaming swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago!

Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor: A streak of light before him lay, Fall'n through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He pa.s.sed--for naught Told what was going on within; How keen the stars! his only thought; The air how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago!

O strange indifference!--low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares: The earth was still--but knew not why; The world was listening--unawares.

How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever!

To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.

It is the calm and solemn night!

A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness, charmed and holy now.

The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given; For in that stable lay new-born The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago.

Alfred Domett [1811-1887]

"WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT"

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around.

"Fear not," said he, for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind; "Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind.

"To you, in David's town, this day Is born, of David's line, The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, And this shall be the sign:

"The heavenly babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands, And in a manger laid."

Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith Appeared a s.h.i.+ning throng Of angels, praising G.o.d, who thus Addressed their joyful song:

"All glory be to G.o.d on high, And to the earth be peace; Good will henceforth from Heaven to men Begin and never cease."

Nahum Tate [1652-1715]

CHRISTMAS CAROLS

It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold: "Peace on the earth, good will to men From heaven's all-gracious King"-- The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled, And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world; Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing, And ever o'er its Babel-sounds The blessed angels sing.

But with the woes of sin and strife The world has suffered long; Beneath the angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong; And man, at war with man, hears not The love-song which they bring;-- Oh, hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the angels sing!

And ye, beneath life's crus.h.i.+ng load, Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow, Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing;-- Oh, rest beside the weary road And hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on By prophet bards foretold, When with the ever circling years Comes round the age of gold; When Peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And the whole world give back the song Which now the angels sing.

Edmund Hamilton Sears [1810-1876]

THE ANGELS From "Flowers of Sion"

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.

We bring the best of news; be not dismayed: A Saviour there is born more old than years, Amidst heaven's rolling heights this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid, A weakling did him bear, who all upbears; There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid, To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres: Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.

This is that night--no, day, grown great with bliss, In which the power of Satan broken is: In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!

Thus singing, through the air the angels swarm, And cope of stars re-echoed the same.

William Drummond [1585-1649]

THE BURNING BABE

As I in h.o.a.ry winter's night Stood s.h.i.+vering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat Which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye To view what fire was near, A pretty babe all burning bright Did in the air appear; Who, scorched with excessive heat, Such floods of tears did shed, As though His floods should quench His flames, Which with His tears were bred: "Alas!" quoth He, "but newly born In fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts Or feel my fire but I!

"My faultless breast the furnace is; The fuel, wounding thorns; Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; The ashes, shames and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, And Mercy blows the coals, The metal in this furnace wrought Are men's defiled souls: For which, as now on fire I am To work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath, To wash them in my blood."

With this He vanished out of sight And swiftly shrunk away, And straight I called unto mind That it was Christmas Day.

Robert Southwell [1561?-1595]

TRYSTE NOEL

The Ox he openeth wide the Doore, And from the Snowe he calls her inne, And he hath seen her Smile therefor, Our Ladye without Sinne.

Now soone from Sleep A Starre shall leap, And soone arrive both King and Hinde: Amen, Amen: But O, the Place co'd I but finde!

The Ox hath hushed his voyce and bent Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow, And on his lovelie Neck, forspent, The Blessed layes her Browe.

Around her feet Full Warme and Sweete His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell: Amen, Amen: But sore am I with Vaine Travel!