The Victory
Hark--how the church-bells thundering harmony
Stuns the glad ear! tidings of joy have come,
Good tidings of great joy! two gallant ships
Met on the element,--they met, they fought
A desperate fight!--good tidings of great joy!
Old England triumphed! yet another day
Of glory for the ruler of the waves!
For those who fell, 'twas in their country's cause,
They have their passing paragraphs of praise
And are forgotten.
There was one who died
In that day's glory, whose obscurer name
No proud historian's page will chronicle.
Peace to his honest soul! I read his name,
'Twas in the list of slaughter, and blest God
The sound was not familiar to mine ear.
But it was told me after that this man
Was one whom lawful violence had forced
From his own home and wife and little ones,
Who by his labour lived; that he was one
Whose uncorrupted heart could keenly feel
A husband's love, a father's anxiousness,
That from the wages of his toil he fed
The distant dear ones, and would talk of them
At midnight when he trod the silent deck
With him he valued, talk of them, of joys
That he had known--oh God! and of the hour
When they should meet again, till his full heart
His manly heart at last would overflow
Even like a child's with very tenderness.
Peace to his honest spirit! suddenly
It came, and merciful the ball of death,
For it came suddenly and shattered him,
And left no moment's agonizing thought
On those he loved so well.
He ocean deep
Now lies at rest. Be Thou her comforter
Who art the widow's friend! Man does not know
What a cold sickness made her blood run back
When first she heard the tidings of the fight;
Man does not know with what a dreadful hope
She listened to the names of those who died,
Man does not know, or knowing will not heed,
With what an agony of tenderness
She gazed upon her children, and beheld
His image who was gone. Oh God! be thou
Her comforter who art the widow's friend!
poem by Robert Southey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Luther's Angel-Song
Sing! sing! ye ransomed mortals, sing!
We come from heaven-from heaven, and bring
Glad tidings of great joy to earth;
We come from heaven, commissioned there
Glad tidings of great joy to bear,
Announcing your Redeemer's birth.
Yes! your Redeemer is at hand;
Echo the tidings through the land;
Your Saviour comes-he comes-the reign
Of peace and glory is begun:
He comes, the Son of peace, the Son
Of God, his advent shout again.
Shout! shout! thou earth!-thou heaven repeat
The notes of joy in transports meet,
For earth and heaven are one-are one;
The Lord of glory bows Him down,
And He who wears the heavenly crown
Descends to rule on earth alone.
poem by John Bowring
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
(traditional)
God rest ye merry gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
For jesus christ our savior
Was born upon this day
To save us all from satans power
When we were gone astray
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
From God our heavenly father
A blessed angel came
When unto certain shepards
Brought tidings of the same
How that in bethlehem was born
The son of God by name
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Now to the lord sing praises
All you within this place
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace
This holy tide of christmas
All under shell replace
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Messenger
She rose up in the early dawn,
And white and silently she moved
About the house. Four men had gone
To battle for the land they loved,
And she, the mother and the wife,
Waited for tidings from the strife.
How still the house seemed! and her tread
Was like the footsteps of the dead.
The long day passed; the dark night came.
She had not seen a human face.
Some voice spoke suddenly her name.
How loud it echoed in that place,
Where, day on day, no sound was heard
But her own footsteps. 'Bring you word,'
She cried to whom she could not see,
'Word from the battle-plain to me?'
A soldier entered at the door,
And stood within the dim firelight;
'I bring you tidings of the four,'
He said, 'who left you for the fight.'
'God bless you, friend,' she cried, 'speak on!
For I can bear it. One is gone?'
'Ay, one is gone!' he said. 'Which one?'
'Dear lady, he, your eldest son.'
A deathly pallor shot across
Her withered face; she did not weep.
She said: 'It is a grievous loss,
But God gives His belovèd sleep.
What of the living-of the three?
And when can they come back to me?'
The soldier turned away his head:
'Lady, your husband, too, is dead.'
She put her hand upon her brow;
A wild, sharp pain was in her eyes.
'My husband! Oh, God, help me now!'
The soldier heard her shuddering sighs.
The task was harder than he thought.
'Your youngest son, dear madam, fought
Close at his father's side; both fell
Dead, by the bursting of a shell.'
She moved her lips and seemed to moan.
Her face had paled to ashen gray:
'Then one is left me-one alone,'
She said, 'of four who marched away.
Oh, overruling, All-wise God,
How can I pass beneath Thy rod!'
The soldier walked across the floor,
Paused at the window, at the door,
Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek
And sought the mourner's side again.
'Once more, dear lady, I must speak:
Your last remaining son was slain
Just at the closing of the fight,
'Twas he who sent me here to-night.'
'God knows,' the man said afterward,
'The fight itself was not so hard.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
God rest ye merry gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
Remember christ our savior
Was born on christmas day,
To save us all from satans power
When we were gone astray;
Ooh tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
Ooh tidings of comfort and joy.
From God our heavenly father
A blessed angel came.
And unto certain shepherds
Brought tidings of the same,
How that in bethlehem was born
The son of God by name;
Ooh tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
Ooh tidings of comfort and joy.
Now to the lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of christmas
All others doth deface;
Ooh tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
Ooh tidings of comfort and joy.
song performed by by 98 Degrees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
On This Night
(McDonaldHarrisChiaravalle)
In a world of no hope
A light will shine brightly
That all men might know
The meaning of mercy and of
Love beyond all love
The peace that rests the soul
The heart will open
And search no more
[Chorus:]
Behold I bring you tidings
Tidings of great joy
The world has found it's answer
In a child that's born
On this night
Sing out across the seas
Cry out from the mountains
The son of man is born
So sing of his mercy and his
Peace beyond all peace
The king of kings has come
(let) every heart surrender
Every soul reborn
[Chorus]
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
God Rest Ye Merry, Gentleman
God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy
In Bethlehem, in Israel,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy
From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy
"Fear not then," said the Angel,
"Let nothing you affright,
This day is born a Saviour
Of a pure Virgin bright,
To free all those who trust in Him
From Satan's power and might."
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy
The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm and wind:
And went to Bethlehem straightway
The Son of God to find.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy
And when they came to Bethlehem
Where our dear Saviour lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay;
His Mother Mary kneeling down,
Unto the Lord did pray.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy
Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood-aca
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXVI
THE SAME--A CHRISTMAS SONNET
Since thou hast given me these, Juliet, given me these,
There have been tidings told of a great joy,
Of peace on Earth, good--will without annoy.
Thou hast put on my soul's infirmities
And stooped to succour me, and thou hast trod
The way of sorrows with me, on thy knees,
Making thyself a little less than God,
That I might worship him in womanhood,
A new redemption. Therefore, Juliet,
The choirs of Heaven multitudinous
Make all their songs to thee this happy night,
In praise of thy great love incarnate thus,
A very ``word made flesh'' to dwell with us.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
Remember Christ our Savior
Was born on Christmas Day;
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy!
From God our heavenly Father
A blessed angel came;
And unto certain shepherds
Brought tiding of the same;
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy!
--- Instrumental ---
Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
Doth bring redeeming grace
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy!...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
English Eclogues III - The Funeral
The coffin as I past across the lane
Came sudden on my view. It was not here,
A sight of every day, as in the streets
Of the great city, and we paus'd and ask'd
Who to the grave was going. It was one,
A village girl, they told us, who had borne
An eighteen months strange illness, and had pined
With such slow wasting that the hour of death
Came welcome to her. We pursued our way
To the house of mirth, and with that idle talk
That passes o'er the mind and is forgot,
We wore away the time. But it was eve
When homewardly I went, and in the air
Was that cool freshness, that discolouring shade
That makes the eye turn inward. Then I heard
Over the vale the heavy toll of death
Sound slow; it made me think upon the dead,
I questioned more and learnt her sorrowful tale.
She bore unhusbanded a mother's name,
And he who should have cherished her, far off
Sail'd on the seas, self-exil'd from his home,
For he was poor. Left thus, a wretched one,
Scorn made a mock of her, and evil tongues
Were busy with her name. She had one ill
Heavier, neglect, forgetfulness from him
Whom she had loved so dearly. Once he wrote,
But only once that drop of comfort came
To mingle with her cup of wretchedness;
And when his parents had some tidings from him,
There was no mention of poor Hannah there,
Or 'twas the cold enquiry, bitterer
Than silence. So she pined and pined away
And for herself and baby toil'd and toil'd,
Nor did she, even on her death bed, rest
From labour, knitting with her outstretch'd arms
Till she sunk with very weakness. Her old mother
Omitted no kind office, and she work'd
Hard, and with hardest working barely earn'd
Enough to make life struggle and prolong
The pains of grief and sickness. Thus she lay
On the sick bed of poverty, so worn
With her long suffering and that painful thought
That at her heart lay rankling, and so weak,
That she could make no effort to express
Affection for her infant; and the child,
Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her
With a strange infantine ingratitude
Shunn'd her as one indifferent. She was past
That anguish, for she felt her hour draw on,
And 'twas her only comfoft now to think
Upon the grave. 'Poor girl!' her mother said,
'Thou hast suffered much!' 'aye mother! there is none
'Can tell what I have suffered!' she replied,
'But I shall soon be where the weary rest.'
And she did rest her soon, for it pleased God
To take her to his mercy.
poem by Robert Southey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
God rest ye merry gentlemen,
let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our Savior
was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
when we were gone astray
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
In Bethlehem, in Jewry,
this blessed babe was born
And laid within a manger,
upon a Christmas morn'
That which his mother Mary
did nothing take in scorn
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,
comfort and joy
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
>From God, our heavenly father,
a blessed angel came
And unto certain shepherds brought
tidings of the same
How that in Bethlehem was born
the son of God by name
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,
comfort and joy
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Whatever The Tides
Give The Lord time and space, to fill a heart with His Grace,
To calm a heart filled with fear, knowing God is always near,
Knowing no matter what the tide, in your heart He will abide,
Knowing truly within your heart, that The Lord will not depart.
At Christmas time we often sing, about tidings He will bring,
Good tidings of joy to all men, especially those Born Again,
For that is why Christ came, so all could embrace His Name,
To accept His great Salvation, that He offers to every nation.
The tides of this life, we know, here upon earth ebb and flow,
As those tides change for me, changeless is God of Eternity,
The Lord God and Creator, Who came down to be my Savior,
My Lord is my provider too, and all tides He sees me through.
Whether tides are rough or calm, I am securely in God’s Palm,
Nothing takes me from His Hand, as my Lord helps me stand,
Amidst the shifting sands of life, I’ll stand firm in Jesus Christ,
While on The Rock of Eternity, The Lord God provides for me.
Friend, at any time any place, The Lord will provide His Grace,
With tidings of joy and peace, within a heart, that won’t cease,
Throughout this life I’m assured, in all times by Christ my Lord,
Whether in need or prosperity, my Lord is The God of Eternity.
(Copyright ©12/2011)
Peace
Suddenly bells and flags!
Suddenly -- door to door --
Tidings! Can we believe,
We, who were used to war?
Yet we have dreamed her face,
Knowing her light must be,
Knowing that she must come.
Look -- she comes, it is she!
Tattered her raiment floats,
Blood is upon her wings.
Ah, but her eyes are clear!
Ah, but her voice outrings!
Soon where the shrapnel fell
Petals shall wake and stir.
Look -- she is here, she lives!
Beauty has died for her.
poem by Eleanor Agnes Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When the Great Gray Ships Come In
To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o’er mapless miles of sea,
On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles are free,
And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill,
Breaker and beach cry, each to each, “’Tis the Mother who calls! Be still!”
Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,
Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm,
Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam,
Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this time home!
And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest;
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade,
And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is “Peace! Thank God for peace.”
Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show
The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go,—
How, when the stirring summons smote on her children’s ear,
South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered, “Here!”
For the soul of the soldier’s story and the heart of the sailor’s song
Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong,
Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod,
Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their country’s God!
Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,
To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea,
To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait,
To run your ship to the harbor’s lip and sink her across the strait:—
But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for home,
And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam,
And the people wait at the haven’s gate to greet the men who win!
Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come in!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet To A Friend
Friend of my earliest years and childish days,
My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shared,
Companion dear, and we alike have fared
(Poor pilgrims we) through life's unequal ways;
It were unwisely done, should we refuse
To cheer our path as featly as we may,
Our lonely path to cheer, as travellers use,
With merry song, quaint tale, or roundelay;
And we will sometimes talk past troubles o'er,
Of mercies shown, and all our sickness healed,
And in his judgments God remembering love;
And we will learn to praise God evermore
For those glad tidings of great joy revealed
By that sooth messenger sent from above.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cavalry Charge At Balaclava
Traveller on foreign ground, whoe'er thou art,
Tell the great tidings! They went down that day
A Legion, and came back from victory
Two hundred men and Glory! On the mart
Is this 'to losc?' Yet, Stranger, thou shalt say
These were our common Britons. 'Tis our way
In England. Aye, ye heavens! I saw them part
The Death-Sea as an English dog leaps o'er
The rocks into the ocean. He goes in
Thick as a lion, and he comes out thin
As a starved wolf; but lo! he brings to shore
A life above his own, which when his heart
Bursts with that final effort, from the stones
Springs up and builds a temple o'er his bones.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Scene Around me Disappears
1. The scene around me disappears,
And, borne to ancient regions,
While time recalls the flight of years,
I see angelic legions
Descending in an orb of light:
Amidst the dark and silent night
I hear celestial voices.
2. Tidings, glad tidings from above,
To every age and nation!
Tidings, glad tidings! God is Love,
To man He sends salvation!
His Son beloved, His only Son,
The work of mercy hath begun;
Give to His Name the Glory!
3. Through David's city I am led;
Here all around are sleeping;
A Light directs to yon poor shed;
There lonely watch is keeping:
I enter; ah! what glories shine!
Is this Immanuel's earthly shrine,
Messiah's infant Temple?
4. It is, it is; and I adore
This Stranger meek and lowly,
As saints and angels bow before
The throne of God thrice Holy!
Faith through the veil of flesh can see
The Face of Thy Divinity,
My Lord, my God, my Saviour!
poem by James Montgomery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Evening Of The Holiday
The night is mild and clear, and without wind,
And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round
The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals
Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine,
Hushed now is every path, and few and dim
The lamps that glimmer through the balconies.
Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light
And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart
Consumes; and little dost thou know or think,
How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made.
Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn,
That seems to greet me with a loving smile,
And to that Nature old, omnipotent,
That doomed me still to suffer. 'I to thee
All hope deny,' she said, 'e'en hope; nor may
Those eyes of thine e'er shine, save through their tears.'
This was a holiday; its pleasures o'er,
Thou seek'st repose; and happy in thy dreams
Recallest those whom thou hast pleased to-day,
And those who have pleased thee: not I, indeed,--
I hoped it not,--unto thy thoughts occur.
Meanwhile, I ask, how much of life remains
To me; and on the earth I cast myself,
And cry, and groan. How wretched are my days,
And still so young! Hark, on the road I hear,
Not far away, the solitary song
Of workman, who returns at this late hour,
In merry mood, unto his humble home;
And in my heart a cruel pang I feel,
At thought, how all things earthly pass away,
And leave no trace behind. This festal day
Hath fled; a working-day now follows it,
And all, alike, are swept away by Time.
Where is the glory of the antique nations now?
Where now the fame of our great ancestors?
The empire vast of Rome, the clash of arms?
Now all is peace and silence, all the world
At rest; their very names are heard no more.
E'en from my earliest years, when we
Expect so eagerly a holiday,
The moment it was past, I sought my couch,
Wakeful and sad; and at the midnight hour,
When I the song heard of some passer-by,
That slowly in the distance died away,
The same deep anguish felt I in my heart.
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Monday Before Easter
"Father to me thou art and mother dear,
And brother too, kind husband of my heart -
So speaks Andromache in boding fear,
Ere from her last embrace her hero part -
So evermore, by Faith's undying glow,
We own the Crucified in weal or woe.
Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home,
This fragrance of our old paternal fields
May be forgotten; and the time may come
When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields
E'en to the doting mother: but Thine own
Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone.
There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs,
None loves them best--O vain and selfish sigh!
Out of the bosom of His love He spares -
The Father spares the Son, for thee to die:
For thee He died--for thee He lives again:
O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign.
Thou art as much His care, as if beside
Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth:
Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide
To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth:
They shine and shine with unexhausted store -
Thou art thy Saviour's darling--seek no more.
On thee and thine, thy warfare and thine end,
E'en in His hour of agony He thought,
When, ere the final pang His soul should rend,
The ransomed spirits one by one were brought
To His mind's eye--two silent nights and days
In calmness for His far-seen hour He stays.
Ye vaulted cells, where martyred seers of old
Far in the rocky walls of Sion sleep,
Green terraces and arched fountains cold,
Where lies the cypress shade so still and deep,
Dear sacred haunts of glory and of woe,
Help us, one hour, to trace His musings high and low:
One heart-ennobling hour! It may not be:
The unearthly thoughts have passed from earth away,
And fast as evening sunbeams from the sea
Thy footsteps all in Sion's deep decay
Were blotted from the holy ground: yet dear
Is every stone of hers; for Thou want surely here.
There is a spot within this sacred dale
That felt Thee kneeling--touched Thy prostrate brow:
One Angel knows it. O might prayer avail
To win that knowledge! sure each holy vow
Less quickly from the unstable soul would fade,
Offered where Christ in agony was laid.
Might tear of ours once mingle with the blood
That from His aching brow by moonlight fell,
Over the mournful joy our thoughts would brood,
Till they had framed within a guardian spell
To chase repining fancies, as they rise,
Like birds of evil wing, to mar our sacrifice.
So dreams the heart self-flattering, fondly dreams; -
Else wherefore, when the bitter waves o'erflow,
Miss we the light, Gethsemane, that streams
From thy dear name, where in His page of woe
It shines, a pale kind star in winter's sky?
Who vainly reads it there, in vain had seen Him die.
poem by John Keble
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One of the Shepherds
We were out on the hills that night
To watch our sheep;
Drowsily by the fire we lay
Where the waning flame did flicker and leap,
And some were weary and half asleep,
And some talked low of their flocks and the fright
Of a lion that day.
But I had drawn from the others apart;
I was only a lad,
And the night's great silence so filled my heart
That I dared not talk and I dared not jest;
The moon had gone down behind the hill
And even the wind of the desert was still;
As the touch of death the air was cold,
And the world seemed all outworn and old;
Yet a poignant delight in my soul was guest,
And I could not be sad.
Still were my thoughts the thoughts of youth
Under the skies:
I dreamed of the holy and tender truth
That shone for me in my mother's eyes;
Of my little sister's innocent grace,
And the mirthful lure in the olive face
Of a maid I had seen at the well that day,
Singing low as I passed that way,
And so sweet and wild were the notes of her song,
That I listened long.
Was it the dawn that silvered and broke
Over the hill?
Each at the other looked in amaze,
And never a breathless word we spoke.
Fast into rose and daffodil
Deepened that splendor; athwart its blaze
That pierced like a sword the gulf of night
We saw a form that was shaped of the light,
And we veiled our faces in awe and dread
To hearken the tidings the Bright One told
Oh! wonderful were the words he said
Of a Child in Bethlehem's manger old.
The stars were drowned in that orient glow;
The sky was abloom like a meadow in spring;
But each blossom there was a radiant face
And each flash of glory a shining wing;
They harped of peace and great good will,
And such was their music that well I know
There can never again in my soul be space
For a sound of ill.
The light died out as the sunset dies
In the western skies;
Swift went we to the Bethlehem khan,
Many our questions laughed to scorn,
But one, a gray and wrinkled man,
With strange, deep eyes that searched the heart,
Led us down to the child new-born
In a dim-lighted cave apart.
There on the straw the mother lay
Wan and white,
But her look was so holy and rapt and mild
That it seemed to shed a marvellous light,
Faint as the first rare gleam of day,
Around the child.
It was as other children are
Saving for something in the eyes,
Starlike and clear and strangely wise
Then came a sudden thought to me
Of a lamb I had found on the waste afar;
Lost and sick with hunger and cold,
I had brought it back in my arms to the fold
For tender ministry.
Dawn had flooded the east as a wave
When we left the cave;
All the world suddenly seemed to be
Young and pure and joyous again;
The others lingered to talk with the men,
Full of wonder and rapture still;
But I hastened back to the fold on the hill
To tend the lamb that had need of me.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Christmas, 1880
Great-hearted child, thy very being
The Son
,
Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-
For who is prodigal but he who has gone
Far from the true to heart it with the false?-
Who, who but thou, that, from the animals',
Know'st all the hearts, up to the Father's own,
Can tell what it would be to be alone!
Alone! No father!-At the very thought
Thou, the eternal light, wast once aghast;
A death in death for thee it almost wrought!
But thou didst haste, about to breathe thy last,
And call'dst out
Father
ere thy spirit passed,
Exhausted in fulfilling not any vow,
But doing his will who greater is than thou.
That we might know him, thou didst come and live;
That we might find him, thou didst come and die;
The son-heart, brother, thy son-being give-
We too would love the father perfectly,
And to his bosom go back with the cry,
Father, into thy hands I give the heart
Which left thee but to learn how good thou art!
There are but two in all the universe-
The father and his children-not a third;
Nor, all the weary time, fell any curse!
Not once dropped from its nest an unfledged bird
But thou wast with it! Never sorrow stirred
But a love-pull it was upon the chain
That draws the children to the father again!
O Jesus Christ, babe, man, eternal son,
Take pity! we are poor where thou art rich:
Our hearts are small; and yet there is not one
In all thy father's noisy nursery which,
Merry, or mourning in its narrow niche,
Needs not thy father's heart, this very now,
With all his being's being, even as thou!
poem by George MacDonald
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!