New Prince New Pomp
Behold, a seely 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 seely beasts
In crib to shroud his head.
Despise him not for lying there,
First, what he is enquire,
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.
The persons in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear;
The prince himself is come from heaven;
This pomp is prized there.
With joy approach, O Christian right,
Do homage to thy king;
And highly prize his humble pomp
Which he from heaven doth bring.
poem by Robert Southwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nativity
Peace? and to all the world? sure, One
And He the Prince of Peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more again.
Poor Galilee! thou canst not be
The place for His nativity.
His restless mother's called away,
And not delivered till she pay.
A tax? 'tis so still! we can see
The church thrive in her misery;
And like her Head at Bethlem, rise
When she, oppressed with troubles, lies.
Rise? should all fall, we cannot be
In more extremities than He.
Great Type of passions! come what will,
Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
Thou cam'st from heaven to earth, that we
Might go from earth to heaven with Thee.
And though Thou foundest no welcome here,
Thou didst provide us mansions there.
A stable was Thy court, and when
Men turned to beasts, beasts would be men.
They were Thy courtiers, others none;
And their poor manger was Thy throne.
No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold,
Though Thou couldst turn Thy rays to gold.
No rockers waited on Thy birth,
No cradles stirred, nor songs of mirth;
But her chaste lap and sacred breast
Which lodged Thee first did give Thee rest.
But stay: what light is that doth stream,
And drop here in a gilded beam?
It is Thy star runs page, and brings
Thy tributary Eastern kings.
Lord! grant some light to us, that we
May with them find the way to Thee.
Behold what mists eclipse the day:
How dark it is! shed down one ray
To guide us out of this sad night,
And say once more, "Let there be light."
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Away In A Manger
(Traditional)
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed. The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing, the poor baby wakes. But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky and stay by my side till morning is nigh.
Be near me Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me forever and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care and fit us for heaven to live with thee there.
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed. The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baby Crib
A baby soon will sleep in that crib
He will have lots of dreams
Soon you will have those sweet dreams baby
And in your dreams you will be able to count the ships baby
While the angels come down from haven and watch out for you baby
That crib will be the place where he will go to sleep
That crib belongs to him
That crib is an old one
It is one of a kind
You don’t see it anymore
That crib will be nice and warm for him to sleep in the winter nights
And cool in the summer for him to sleep
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hamlet: Let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king’s mess.
line from Hamlet, Act V, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Dan CostinaÅŸ
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Christmas These Days!
No time to bake a cake!
No tree to decorate;
No Santa to bring gifts;
No crib for the new-born King!
No clothes anew to take!
No dainty dish to eat;
No holidays to enjoy;
No soul to ever think!
No snow, a snow-man to make;
No relatives to meet;
No Christmas songs to sing;
No good wine to drink.
No Holy Mass to attend;
No love in heart to share;
No kith and kin to talk to;
Mere selfishness abounds!
This is the kind of Christmas
That many spend these days!
The birth of baby Jesus
Hasn’t changed our sinful ways.
But the babe in the manger
Was born for every sinner;
And Make more souls better,
Free from Satan’s fetter!
Think awhile O Christian!
Think of the poor and needy;
Think of the downtrodden;
Share your joy of Christmas
With those who can’t afford.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-3-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Voices in a Meadow
A Milkweed
Anonymous as cherubs
Over the crib of God,
White seeds are floating
Out of my burst pod.
What power had I
Before I learned to yield?
Shatter me, great wind:
I shall possess the field.
A Stone
As casual as cow-dung
Under the crib of God,
I lie where chance would have me,
Up to the ears in sod.
Why should I move? To move
Befits a light desire.
The sill of Heaven would founder,
Did such as I aspire.
poem by Richard Wilbur
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Ære Perennius
Look on the dead. Stately and pure he lies
Under the white sheet's marble folds. For him
The solemn bier, the scented chamber dim,
The sacred hush, the bowed heads of the wise,
The slow pomp, the majestical disguise
Of haughty death, the conjurer—even for him,
Poor trivial one, pale shadow on the rim,.
Whom life marked not, but death may not despise.
Now is he level with the great; no king
Enthroned and crowned more royal is, more sure
Of the world's reverence. Yesterday this thing
Was but a man, mortal and insecure;
Now chance and change their homage to him bring
And he is one with all things that endure.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Away In A Manger
Away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little lord jesus
Lay down his sweet head
The stars in the sky
Look down where lay
The little lord jesus
Asleep in the hay
The cattle are lowing
The poor baby wakes
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
Choir sings: away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little lord jesus
Lay down his sweet head
The stars in the heavens
Look down where he lay
The little lord jesus
Asleep on the hay
Martina sings: away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little lord jesus
Lay down his sweet head
I love thee lord jesus
Look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle
Till morning is nigh
Stay by my cradle
Till morning is nigh
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet I
IN haste, post haste, when first my wandering mind
Beheld the glistring Court with gazing eye,
Such deep delights I seemed therein to find,
As might beguile a graver guest than I.
The stately pomp of Princes and their peers
Did seem to swim in floods of beaten gold;
The wanton world of young delightful year
Was not unlike a heaven for to behold,
Wherein did swarm (for every saint) a Dame
So fair of hue, so fresh of their attire,
As might excel Dame Cynthia for Fame,
Or conquer Cupid with his own desire.
These and such like baits that blazed still
Before mine eye, to feed my greedy will.
poem by George Gascoigne
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Away In A Manger
(Arrangement: George Strait)
Away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little lord Jesus laid down his sweet head
The stars in the sky look donw where he lay
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay
The cattle all glory the baby awakes
Buy little Lord Jesus no crying he makes
I love the Lord Jesus look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle till morning is night
Away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little lord Jesus laid down his sweet head
The stars in the sky look donw where he lay
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alas! So All Things Now Do Hold Their Peace
Alas! so all things now do hold their peace,
Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing.
The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease,
The night{:e}s chare the stars about doth bring.
Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less:
So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease.
For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring,
But by and by the cause of my disease
Gives me a pang that inwardly doth sting,
When that I think what grief it is again
To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.
poem by Henry Howard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Away In A Manger
Away in a manger no crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head
The stars in the bright sky look down where he lay
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay
The cattle are lowing the baby awakes
The little Lord Jesus no crying he makes
I love the Lord Jesus look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle 'till morning is night
Away in a manger no crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head
The stars in the bright sky look down where he lay
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay
The little Lord Jesus asleep
on the hay (hay)
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night / Away In A Manger
Silent night, Holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin Mother and Child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake, at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heav'nly hosts they sing Allelluia
Christ the savior is born
Christ the savior is born.
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay
song performed by by Relient K
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The True Christians
So stick up ivy and the bays,
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing.
And mortifies the earth and all
But your wild revels, and loose hall.
Could you wear flowers, and roses strow
Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto music, masque, nor show:
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate;
But to the manger's mean estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a check to pomp and mirth;
And all man's greatness you may see
Condemned by His humility.
Then leave your open house and noise,
To welcome Him with holy joys,
And the poor shepherd's watchfulness:
Whom light and hymns from heaven did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your load.
Who empties thus, will bring more in;
But riot is both loss and sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.
poem by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nativity of Christ
Behold the father is his daughter's son,
The bird that built the nest is hatched therein,
The old of years an hour hath not outrun,
Eternal life to live doth now begin,
The Word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.
O dying souls, behold your living spring;
O dazzled eyes, behold your sun of grace;
Dull ears, attend what word this Word doth bring;
Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace.
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs
This life, this light, this Word, this joy repairs.
Gift better than himself God doth not know;
Gift better than his God no man can see.
This gift doth here the giver given bestow;
Gift to this gift let each receiver be.
God is my gift, himself he freely gave me;
God's gift am I, and none but God shall have me.
Man altered was by sin from man to beast;
Beast's food is hay, hay is all mortal flesh.
Now God is flesh and lies in manger pressed
As hay, the brutest sinner to refresh.
O happy field wherein that fodder grew,
Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew.
poem by Robert Southwell
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What is man without the beasts If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.
quote by Chief Seattle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Christmas Carol
I.
The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung,
A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.
II.
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng.
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother's song,
Blest Angels heralded the Savior's birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
III.
She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed:
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
IV.
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,
Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?
V.
And is not War a youthful king,
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail
Their friends, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.
VI.
Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And wherefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the aged father's tears his child!
VII.
A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow's toil had won;
Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
VIII.
Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I'm poor and of low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! The Prince of Peace is born!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Christmas Revisited
Two thousand years ago
In Bethlehem town, Oh,
A baby boy was born
In manger-shed forlorn!
He lay upon the hay,
Swaddled in cloths that day,
As watched Mary mother,
And Joseph, his father.
It was a cold, dark night;
There was just oil-lamp’s light;
But angels-choir sang song,
As bells near tolled ding-dong!
’Emmanuel’, his name;
The near-by shepherds came;
They worshipped babe boy-king,
As angels turned to sing.
Oh, what a heavenly sight!
The baby slept so tight;
He had brought joy to all,
Peace to men of good-will!
The boy was ‘King of kings’
For heaven, all earthlings!
The redeemer foretold,
For sinners of this world.
Bethlehem’s star stood there;
A phenomenon rare,
And brought the Magi three,
By camel-back to see!
It was a dream come true
Born was a Savior new,
Who shunned all pomp and show;
Rejoiced earth, heaven, Oh!
‘Hosanna in the high,
Sang angels in the sky! ’
Glory and thanks to God
For his love, mercy odd!
Spread Christmas cheer around
Spread peace, joy across world;
God’s kingdom is now nigh
If repentant, we die!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-16-2009
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Christ was Born
On that divine all-hallowed morn
When Christ in Bethlehem was born,
How lone did Mary seem to be,
The kindly beasts for company!
Yet when she saw her infant's face—
Fair with the soul's unfading grace,
Softly she wept for love's excess,
For painless ease and happiness.
She pressed her treasure to her heart—
A lowly mother, set apart
In the dear way that mothers are,
And heaven seemed nigh, and earth afar:
And when grave kings in sumptuous guise
Adored her babe, she knew them wise;
For at his touch her sense grew dim—
So all her being worshiped him.
A nimbus seemed to crown the head
Low-nestled in that manger-bed,
And Mary's forehead, to our sight,
Wears ever something of its light;
And still the heart—poor pensioner!
In its affliction turns to her—
Best loved of all, best understood,
The type of selfless motherhood!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Away In The Manger
Away in the manger no crib for his bed.
The little lord jesus
Laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky
Look down where he lay,
The little lord jesus
Asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing
The poor baby wakes,
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 night.
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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