Part 1
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FIFTY CHRISTMAS POEMS [Illustration: Decoration] FOR CHILDREN [Illustration: Decoration]
FIFTY CHRISTMAS POEMS FOR CHILDREN
AN ANTHOLOGY SELECTED BY [Illustration: Decor.] FLORENCE B. HYETT [Illustration: Decor.]
_Why do the bells of Christmas ring? Why do little children sing?_
EUGENE FIELD
[Illustration: Decoration]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK [Illustration: Decoration] MCMXXIII
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
_ACKNOWLEDGMENTS_
_The Compiler expresses her thanks to Authors and Publishers for the use of poems in this volume and acknowledges her indebtedness._
_The woodcut on the Cover of this book is reproduced by kind permission of the artist, Mr. C. T. Nightingale._
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
PAGE
ANONYMOUS Old Carol 11 Shepherd’s Song 19 The Cherry-Tree Carol 20 The Holly and the Ivy 41 I Saw Three Ships 60 When Christ Was Born 47 Yule-Tide Fires 51
BAIN, C. In the Night 30
BELLOC, HILAIRE The Birds 23 Noël 62
BLAKE, WILLIAM A Cradle Song 22 The Lamb 15
CANTON, WILLIAM Carol 18
CHESTERTON, G. K. A Christmas Carol 37
COLE, CHARLOTTE DRUITT Christmas Eve 24
CRASHAW, RICHARD Verses from The Shepherd’s Hymn 65
DE LA MARE, WALTER Before Dawn 43
FIELD, EUGENE From _The Complete Poems of Eugene Field_ (Copyright, 1910, by Julia S. Field. Published by Charles Scribner’s Sons) Song 16 Star of the East 49
FARJEON, ELEANOR Six Green Singers 52
GALES, R. L. Three Christmas Songs 26 I. The Guests II. Cockadoodledoo III. A Childermas Rhyme Waiting for the Kings 34 In Præsepio 46
HARDY, THOMAS The Oxen 59
HERRICK, ROBERT A Christmas Carol 58 An Ode of the Birth of Our Saviour 57 To His Saviour, A Child; A Present from a Child 56
KING, EDITH The Holly 17
LUTHER, MARTIN Cradle Hymn 28
MACDONALD, GEORGE A Christmas Prayer 25 Christmas Day and Every Day 13 The Christmas Child 14 That Holy King 54
MEYNELL, ALICE Unto Us a Son Is Given 64
MIDDLETON, RICHARD The Carol of the Poor Children 48
MILTON, JOHN From the “Hymn on the Morning of Christ’s Nativity” 66
NIGHTINGALE, M. Mary Had a Little Lamb 32 The Waits 44
ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA A Christmas Carol 50
SOUTHWELL, ROBERT Behold a Silly Tender Babe 36
TABB, JOHN BANISTER The Lamb-Child 12
TENNYSON, ALFRED From _In Memoriam_ The Bells 68
THOMPSON, FRANCIS Ex Ore Infantium 38
TYNAN, KATHARINE A Song of Christmas 40 Bethlehem 33
WATTS, ISAAC A Cradle Hymn 42
YOUNG, E. HILTON Christmas 55
OLD CAROL
He came all so still Where His mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the grass.
He came all so still To His mother’s bower, As dew in April That falleth on the flower.
He came all so still Where His mother lay, As dew in April That falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden Was never none but she; Well may such a lady God’s mother be.
ANONYMOUS
THE LAMB CHILD
When Christ the Babe was born, Full many a little lamb Upon the wintry hills forlorn Was nestled near its dam:
And, waking or asleep, Upon His Mother’s breast, For love of her, each mother-sheep And baby-lamb He blessed.
JOHN BANISTER TABB
CHRISTMAS DAY AND EVERY DAY
Star high Baby low: ’Twixt the two Wise men go; Find the baby, Grasp the star— Heirs of all things Near and far!
GEORGE MACDONALD
THE CHRISTMAS CHILD
“Little one, who straight hast come Down the heavenly stair, Tell us all about your home, And the father there.”
“He is such a one as I Like as like can be. Do his will, and, by and by, Home and him you’ll see.”
GEORGE MACDONALD
THE LAMB
Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee; Little lamb, I’ll tell thee; He is callèd by thy name, For He calls Himself a lamb; He is meek and He is mild, He became a little child. I a child and thou a lamb, We are callèd by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee!
WILLIAM BLAKE
SONG
Why do the bells of Christmas ring? Why do little children sing?
Once a lovely shining star, Seen by shepherds from afar, Gently moved until its light Made a manger’s cradle bright.
There a darling baby lay, Pillowed soft upon the hay; And its mother sung and smiled: “This is Christ, the holy Child!”
Therefore bells for Christmas ring, Therefore little children sing.
EUGENE FIELD
THE HOLLY
How happy the holly-tree looks, and how strong, Where he stands like a sentinel all the year long.
Neither dry summer heat nor cold winter hail Can make that gay warrior tremble or quail.
He has beamed all the year, but bright scarlet he’ll glow When the ground glitters white with the fresh fallen snow.
EDITH KING
CAROL
When the herds were watching In the midnight chill, Came a spotless lambkin From the heavenly hill.
Snow was on the mountains, And the wind was cold, When from God’s own garden Dropped a rose of gold.
When ’twas bitter winter, Houseless and forlorn In a star-lit stable Christ the Babe was born.
Welcome, heavenly lambkin, Welcome, golden rose; Alleluia, Baby In the swaddling clothes!
WILLIAM CANTON
SHEPHERD’S SONG
As I rode out this enderes’ night, Of three jolly shepherds I saw a sight And all about their fold a star shone bright; They sang, Terli, terlow; So merrily the shepherds their pipes can blow.
Down from heaven, from heaven so high, Of angels there came a great company. With mirth, and joy, and great solemnity They sang, Terli, terlow; So merrily the shepherds their pipes can blow.
OLD SONG
VERSES FROM “THE CHERRY-TREE CAROL”
As Joseph was a walking He heard an angel sing: “This night shall be born Our heavenly king.
“He neither shall be born In housen nor in hall, Nor in the place of Paradise, But in an ox’s stall.
“He neither shall be clothed In purple nor in pall, But all in fair linen, As were babies all.
“He neither shall be rocked In silver nor in gold, But in a wooden cradle, That rocks on the mould.
“He neither shall be christened In white wine nor red, But with fair spring water, With which we were christened.”
Then Mary took her young son, And set him on her knee: “I pray thee now, dear child, Tell how this world shall be.”
“O I shall be as dead, mother, As the stones in the wall; O the stones in the street, mother, Shall mourn for me all.
“And upon a Wednesday My vow I will make, And upon Good Friday My death I will take.
“Upon Easter-day, mother, My rising shall be; O the sun and the moon Shall uprise with me.
“The people shall rejoice, And the birds they shall sing, To see the uprising Of the heavenly king.”
TRADITIONAL
A CRADLE SONG
Sweet dreams, form a shade O’er my lovely infant’s head! Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown! Sweet sleep, angel mild, Hover o’er my happy child!
* * * * *
Sleep, sleep, happy child! All creation slept and smiled. Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o’er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace; Sweet babe, once like thee Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all, When He was an infant small. Thou His image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small; Infant smiles are His own smiles: Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
WILLIAM BLAKE
THE BIRDS
When Jesus Christ was four years old, The angels brought Him toys of gold, Which no man ever had bought or sold.
And yet with these He would not play, He made Him small fowl out of clay, And blessed them till they flew away: _Tu Creasti Domine_.
Jesus Christ, Thou child so wise, Bless mine hands and fill mine eyes, And bring my soul to Paradise.
HILAIRE BELLOC
CHRISTMAS EVE
In Christmas Eve the little stars Sparkle and glisten with delight, Like strings of glitt’ring diamonds, Across the darkness of the night.
On Christmas Eve the little stars Dance in their places in the sky; Ah! I would go and trip with them If I could only climb as high.
On Christmas Eve the little stars Sing merry carols all night long; But O! I am so far away I cannot even hear their song.
On Christmas Eve the little stars Sparkle, and dance, and sing till dawn; And I am singing too, because To-morrow will be Christmas Morn.
CHARLOTTE DRUITT COLE
A CHRISTMAS PRAYER
Loving looks the large-eyed cow, Loving stares the long-eared ass At Heaven’s glory in the grass! Child, with added human birth Come to bring the child of earth Glad repentance, tearful mirth, And a seat beside the hearth At the Father’s knee— Make us peaceful as thy cow; Make us patient as thine ass; Make us quiet as thou art now; Make us strong as thou wilt be. Make us always know and see We are his, as well as thou.
GEORGE MACDONALD
THREE CHRISTMAS SONGS
I. THE GUESTS
Why is there such a dancing din About the stable of the inn? “An old man, winter white, is here A wayfarer he doth appear.”
“If this be all, why is the night Lit up with this unearthly light?” “A maid, the fairest maid, is here, Some great Lady she doth appear.”
“But even so, why do there fly Such flocks of Angels from the sky?” “A Babe, a most sweet flower, is here, A Child from Heaven He doth appear.”
II. COCKADOODLEDOO!
Cockadoodledoo! Our Lady’s lost her shoe, St. Joseph’s lost his lantern, What will they do? The Child will be both Shoes and Staff And a Lantern too. In the dark night He’ll be their Light. And their Guide so true Cockadoodledoo!
They that slept for sorrow Wake on a glad morrow, Their goal won, Their travel done, Their trouble thro’— How cunning is His little laugh His eyes how blue! Cockadoodledoo! The sun is high in Egypt’s sky, Cockadoodledoo!
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.”
C. BAIN
“MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB”
The Blessed Mary had a lamb, It too was white as snow, Far whiter than I ever am— Always and always so.
She found it lying in the stall Wherefrom the oxen fed, With hay for bedding, hay for shawl, And hay beneath its head.
She followed near it every day In all the paths it trod, She knew her lamb could never stray (It was the Lamb of God).
And when the cloud of angels came And hid It from her sight, Its heart was near her all the same Because her own was white.
So when she slept white lilies screened Her sleep from all alarms, Till from His Throne her white lamb leaned And waked her in His Arms.
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