Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But only His mother,
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd,
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man,
I would do my part:
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
_Christina G. Rossetti._
[Illustration: "What Can I Give Him?"]
STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
When marshalled on the nightly plain
The glitt'ring host bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks
From ev'ry host, from ev'ry gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks,--
It is the Star of Bethlehem!
Once on the raging seas I rode;
The storm was loud, the night was dark;
The ocean yawned, and rudely blew
The wind that tossed my found'ring bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze;
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem,
When suddenly a star arose,--
It was the Star of Bethlehem!
It was my guide, my light, my all;
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.
Now safely moored, my perils o'er,
I'll sing first in night's diadem,
Forever and forever more,--
The Star, the Star of Bethlehem!
_Henry Kirke White._
NO ROOM.
Foot-sore and weary, Mary tried
Some rest to seek, but was denied.
"There is no room," the blind ones cried.
Meekly the Virgin turned away,
No voice entreating her to stay;
There was no room for God that day.
No room for her, round whose tired feet
Angels are bowed in transport sweet
The mother of their God to greet.
No room for Him in whose small hand
The troubled sea and mighty land
Lie cradled like a grain of sand;
No room, O Babe Divine! for Thee
That Christmas night; and even we
Dare shut our hearts and turn the key.
In vain Thy pleading baby cry
Strikes our deaf souls; we pass Thee by,
Unsheltered 'neath the wintry sky.
No room for God! O Christ, that we
Should bar our doors, nor ever see
Our Saviour waiting patiently.
Fling wide the doors! Dear Christ, turn back!
The ashes on my hearth lie black--
Of light and warmth a total lack.
How can I bid Thee enter here
Amid the desolation drear
Of lukewarm love and craven fear?
What bleaker shelter can there be
Than my cold heart's tepidity--
Chilled, wind-tossed, as the winter sea?
Dear Lord, I shrink from Thy pure eye,
No home to offer Thee have I;
Yet in Thy mercy pass not by.
_Agnes Repplier._
ON CHRISTMAS DAY.
Assist me, Muse divine! to Sing the Morn
On which the Saviour of Mankind was born;
But oh! what Numbers to the Theme can rise?
Unless kind Angels aid me from the Skies!
Methinks I see the tunefull Host descend,
And with officious Joy the Scene attend!
Hark, by their Hymns directed on the Road,
The Gladsome Shepherds find the nascent God!
And view the Infant conscious of his Birth,
Smiling bespeak Salvation to the Earth!
For when th' important Æra first drew near
In which the great Messiah should appear;
And to accomplish his redeeming Love;
Beneath our Form should every Woe sustain,
And by triumphant Suffering fix his Reign,
Should for lost Man in Tortures yield his Breath
Dying to save us from eternal Death!
Oh mystick union!--salutary Grace!
Incarnate God our Nature should embrace!
That Deity should stoop to our Disguise!
That man recover'd should regain the Skies!
Dejected Adam! from thy grave ascend,
And view the Serpent's Deadly Malice end,
Adorning bless th' Almighty's boundless Grace
That gave his son a Ransome for thy Race!
Oh never let my Soul this Day forget,
But pay in gratefull praise the annual Debt.
_From a manuscript volume, written by George Washington._
THE HEAVENLY CHOIR.
What sudden blaze of song
Spreads o'er th' expanse of heaven?
In waves of light it thrills along,
Th' angelic signal given--
"Glory to God!" from yonder central fire
Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry quire;
Like circles widening round
Upon a clear blue river,
Orb after orb, the wondrous sound
Is echoed on forever;
"Glory to God on high, on earth be peace,
And love toward men of love--salvation and release."
Yet stay, before thou dare
To join that festal throng;
Listen and mark what gentle air
First stirred the tide of song;
'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's home,
To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:"
'Tis not "the Christ the Lord:"--
With fix'd adoring look
The choir of angels caught the word,
Nor yet their silence broke;
But when they heard the sign, where Christ should be,
In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.
Wrapped in His swaddling-bands,
And in His manger laid,
The hope and glory of all lands
Is come to the world's aid:
No peaceful home upon His cradle smiled,
Guests rudely went and came where slept the royal Child.
But where Thou dwellest, Lord,
No other thought should be;
Once duly welcomed and adored,
How should I part with Thee?
Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace
The single heart to be Thy pure abiding-place.
Thee, on the bosom laid
Of a pure virgin mind,
In quiet ever, and in shade,
Shepherd and sage may find;
They who have bow'd untaught to nature's sway,
And they who follow truth along her star-paved way.
The pastoral spirits first
Approach Thee, Babe divine,
For they in lowly thoughts are nursed,
Meet for Thy lowly shrine:
Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell,
Angels from heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.
Still, as the day comes round
For Thee to be revealed,
By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,
Abiding in the field.
All through the wintry heaven and chill night air,
In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.
O faint not ye for fear--
What though your wandering sheep,
Reckless of what they see and hear,
Lie lost in wilful sleep?
High heaven in mercy to your sad annoy
Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.
Think on th' eternal home
The Saviour left for you;
Think on the Lord most holy, come
To dwell with hearts untrue:
So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways,
And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.
_John Keble._
_The Wassail-Bowl._
"Wassail, wassail, all over the town;
Our toast it is white, our ale it is brown,
Our bowl it is made of the mapling tree;
With the wassailing bowl we will drink to thee."
_Old Carol._
WASSAIL.
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win
An easy blessing to your bin
And basket, by our entering in.
May both with manchet[T] stand replete,
Your larders, too, so hung with meat,
That though a thousand thousand eat,
Yet ere twelve moons shall whirl about
Their silvery spheres, there's none may doubt
But more's sent in than was served out.
Next, may your dairies prosper so
As that your pans no ebb may know;
But if they do, the more to flow,
Like to a solemn, sober stream,
Banked all with lilies, and the cream
Of sweetest cowslips filling them.
Then may your plants be pressed with fruit,
Nor bee or hive you have be mute,
But sweetly sounding like a lute.
Last, may your harrows, shares, and ploughs,
Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mows,
All prosper by your virgin vows.
Alas! we bless, but see none here,
That brings us either ale or beer;
In a dry house all things are near.
Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate;
And all live here with needy fate;
Where chimneys do forever weep
For want of warmth, and stomachs keep
With noise the servants' eyes from sleep.
It is in vain to sing or stay
Our free feet here, but we'll away;
Yet to the Lares this we'll say:
The time will come when you'll be sad,
And reckon this for fortune bad,
T' have lost the good ye might have had.
_Robert Herrick._
FOOTNOTE:
[T] White bread.
INVITATION À FAIRE NOËL.
(FROM THE FRENCH OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY.)
Hail, good Masters, let us bide,
Hither come from travel wide,
This Christmas-tide.
Hearken, give us bed and cheer,
We are weary, life is dear
This day o' the year!
God send ye joy and peace on earth,
Who broach good cheer for Christé's birth.
Masters, an ye make no feast:
Spicéd ale and meat of beast,
Nor laugh the least:
If ye fill not pantries high
With bread, and fish, and mammoth pie,
And sweets, pardie!--
God ordains no peace on earth
To ye who fast at Christé's birth.
Masters, it is writ of old
Who fill the fire for Christmas cold
And wassail hold,
Shall have of food a double store
And ruddy-blazing ingle roar
Forevermore.
God sends the peace of heaven and earth
To men who carol Christé's birth.
O Masters! let nor hate nor spite
Mar the tongue of any wight
'Twixt night and night.
_Botun, batun_--belabor well
Churls who sleep through matin bell
And no soothe tell.
God will forfeit peace on earth
If men fall out at Christé's birth.
Christmas tipples every wine,
English, French, and Gascon fine
And Angevine;
Clinks with neighbor and with guest,
Empties casks with gibe and jest--
The year's for rest!
God sends to men the joy of earth
Who broach good cheer for Christé's birth.
But hearken, Masters, ere ye drink
While yet the bubbles boil and wink
At the brink;
Ere ye lift the pot aloft,
Merrily wave it, laughing oft,
With hood well doft.
And if I cry ye, sad, "Wesseyl!"
Woe's him who answers not "Drinchayl!"
_Translated by H. S. M._
A THANKSGIVING.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by Thee;
The worts, the purslane, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those and my belovéd beet
To be more sweet.
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth,
And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink
Spiced to the brink.
_Robert Herrick._
AROUND THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
A jolly wassail-bowl,
A wassail of good ale;
Well fare the butler's soul
That setteth this to sale;
Our jolly wassail.
Good dame, here at your door
Our wassail we begin,
We are all maidens poor,
We pray now let us in
With our wassail.
Our wassail we do fill
With apples and with spice,
Then grant us your good-will
To taste here once or twice
Of our good wassail.
If any maidens be
Here dwelling in this house,
They kindly will agree
To take a full carouse
Of our wassail.
But here they let us stand
All freezing in the cold:
Good master, give command
To enter and be bold,
With our wassail.
Much joy into this hall
With us is entered in,
Our master first of all
We hope will now begin
Of our wassail.
And after, his good wife
Our spicéd bowl will try;
The Lord prolong your life!
Good fortune we espy
For our wassail.
Some bounty from your hands
Our wassail to maintain;
We'll buy no house nor lands
With that which we do gain
With our wassail.
This is our merry night
Of choosing king and queen;
Then be it your delight
That something may be seen
In our wassail.
It is a noble part
To bear a liberal mind;
God bless our master's heart!
For here we comfort find
With our wassail.
And now we must be gone
To seek out more good cheer,
Where bounty will be shown
As we have found it here
With our wassail.
Much joy betide them all,
Our prayer shall be still,
We hope and ever shall
For this your great good-will
To our wassail.
FROM DOOR TO DOOR.
Here we come a wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a wand'ring,
So fair to be seen.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you a happy New Year.
Our wassail-cup is made
Of the rosemary tree,
And so is your beer
Of the best barley.
Love and joy, etc.
We are not daily beggars
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbors' children
Whom you have seen before.
Love and joy, etc.
Good master and good mistress,
As you sit by the fire,
Pray think of us poor children
As wand'ring in the mire.
Love and joy, etc.
We have a little purse
Made of ratching leather skin;
We want some of your small change
To line it well within.
Love and joy, etc.
Call up the butler of this house,
Put on his golden ring;
Let him bring us a glass of beer,
And the better we shall sing.
Love and joy, etc.
Bring us out a table,
And spread it with a cloth;
Bring us out a mouldy cheese,
And some of your Christmas loaf.
Love and joy, etc.
God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the mistress too
And all the little children
That round the table go.
Love and joy, etc.
WASSAILING CAROL.
We wish you merry Christmas, also a glad New Year;
We come to bring you tidings to all mankind so dear:
We come to tell that Jesus was born in Bethl'em town,
And now He's gone to glory and pityingly looks down
On us poor wassailers,
As wassailing we go;
With footsteps sore
From door to door
We trudge through sleet and snow.
A manger was His cradle, the straw it was His bed,
The oxen were around Him within that lowly shed;
No servants waited on Him with lords and ladies gay;
But now He's gone to glory and unto Him we pray.
Us poor wassailers, etc.
His mother loved and tended Him and nursed Him at her breast,
And good old Joseph watched them both the while they took their rest;
And wicked Herod vainly sought to rob them of their child,
By slaughtering the Innocents in Bethlehem undefiled.
But us poor wassailers, etc.
Now, all good Christian people, with great concern we sing
These tidings of your Jesus, the Saviour, Lord and King;
In poverty He passed His days that riches we might share,
And of your wealth He bids you give and of your portion spare
To us poor wassailers, etc.
Your wife shall be a fruitful vine, a hus'sif good and able;
Your children like the olive branches round about your table;
Your barns shall burst with plenty and your crops shall be secure,
If you will give your charity to us who are so poor,
Us poor wassailers, etc.
And now no more we'll sing to you because the hour is late,
And we must trudge and sing our song at many another gate;
And so we'll wish you once again a merry Christmas time,
And pray God bless you while you give good silver for our rhyme.
Us poor wassailers, etc.
A CAROL AT THE GATES.
Here we come a-whistling through the fields so green;
Here we come a-singing, so fair to be seen.
God send you happy, God send you happy,
Pray God send you a happy New Year!
The roads are very dirty, my boots are very thin,
I have a little pocket to put a penny in.
God send you happy, etc.
Bring out your little table and spread it with a cloth,
Bring out some of your old ale, likewise your Christmas loaf.
God send you happy, etc.
God bless the master of this house, likewise the mistress, too,
And all the little children that round the table strew.
God send you happy, etc.
The cock sat up in the yew-tree, the hen came chuckling by,
I wish you a merry Christmas, and a good fat pig in the sty.
God send you happy, etc.
WANDERING WASSAILERS.
Wassail, wassail, all over the town,
Our bread it is white, and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the maplin tree,
So here, my good fellow, I'll drink it to thee.
The wassailing bowl, with a toast within,
Come, fill it up unto the brim;
Come fill it up that we may all see;
With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee.
Come, butler, come bring us a bowl of your best,
And we hope your soul in heaven shall rest;
But if you do bring us a bowl of your small,
Then down shall go butler, the bowl, and all.
O butler, O butler, now don't you be worst,
But pull out your knife and cut us a toast;
And cut us a toast, one that we may all see;
With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee.
Here's to Dobbin and to his right eye!
God send our mistress a good Christmas-pie!
A good Christmas-pie as e'er we did see;
With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee.
Here's to Broad May and his broad horn,
God send our master a good crop of corn,
A good crop of corn as we all may see;
With the wassailing bowl I'll drink to thee.
Here's to Colly and to her long tail,
We hope our master and mistress heart will ne'er fail;
But bring us a bowl of your good strong beer,
And then we shall taste of your happy New Year.
Be there here any pretty maids? we hope there be some;
Don't let the jolly wassailers stand on the cold stone,
But open the door and pull out the pin,
That we jolly wassailers may all sail in.
_Chappell's Ancient English Melodies._
BRING US IN GOOD ALE.
_Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale;_
_For our blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale._
Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran,
Nor bring us in no white bread, for therein is no game,
But bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no beef, for there are many bones,
But bring us in good ale, for that goeth down at once;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat,
But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no mutton, for that is often lean,
Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clean;
But bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no eggs, for there are many shells,
But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else;
And bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs,
Nor bring us in no pig's flesh, for that will make us boars;
But bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no puddings, for therein is all God's good,
Nor bring us in no venison, for that is not for our blood;
But bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no capon's flesh, for that is often dear,
Nor bring us in no duck's flesh, for they slobber in the mere;
But bring us in good ale.
_Wright's Songs and Carols._
ABOUT THE BOARD.
Come bravely on, my masters,
For here we shall be tasters
Of curious dishes that are brave and fine,
Where they that do such cheer afford,
I'll lay my knife upon the board,
My master and my dame they do not pine.
Who is't will not be merry
And sing down, down, aderry?
For now it is a time of joy and mirth;
'Tis said 'tis merry in the hall
When as beards they do wag all;
God's plenty's here, it doth not show a dearth.
Let him take all lives longest,
Come fill us of the strongest,
And I will drink a health to honest John;
Come, pray thee, butler, fill the bowl,
And let it round the table troll,
When that is up, I'll tell you more anon.
_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642._
BEFORE THE FEAST.
All you that are good fellows,
Come hearken to my song;
I know you do not hate good cheer
Nor liquor that is strong.
I hope there is none here
But soon will take my part,
Seeing my master and my dame
Say welcome with their heart.
This is a time of joyfulness
And merry time of year,
Whereas the rich with plenty stored
Doth make the poor good cheer;
Plum-porridge, roast-beef, and minced-pies
Stand smoking on the board,
With other brave varieties
Our master doth afford.
Our mistress and her cleanly maids
Have neatly played the cooks;
Methinks these dishes eagerly
At my sharp stomach looks,
As though they were afraid
To see me draw my blade;
But I revenged on them will be
Until my stomach's stayed.
Come fill us of the strongest,
Small drink is out of date;
Methinks I shall fare like a prince
And sit in gallant state:
This is no miser's feast,
Although that things be dear;
God grant the founder of this feast
Each Christmas keep good cheer.
This day for Christ we celebrate,
Who was born at this time;
For which all Christians should rejoice,
And I do sing in rhyme.
When you have given God thanks,
Unto your dainties fall:
Heaven bless my master and my dame,
Lord bless me and you all.
_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642._
A BILL OF CHRISTMAS FARE.
Come, mad boys, be glad, boys, for Christmas is here,
And we shall be feasted with jolly good cheer;
Then let us be merry, 'tis Saint Stephen's day,
Let's eat and drink freely, here's nothing to pay.
My master bids welcome, and so doth my dame,
And 'tis yonder smoking dish doth me inflame;
Anon I'll be with you, though you me outface,
For now I do tell you I have time and place.
I'll troll the bowl to you, then let it go round,
My heels are so light they can stand on no ground;
My tongue it doth chatter, and goes pitter patter,
Here's good beer and strong beer, for I will not flatter.
And now for remembrance of blessed Saint Stephen,
Let's joy at morning, at noon, and at even;
Then leave off your mincing, and fall to mince-pies,
I pray take my counsel, be ruled by the wise.
_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1642._
THE MAHOGANY-TREE.
Christmas is here:
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we:
Little we fear
Weather without
Sheltered about
The Mahogany-Tree.
Once on the boughs
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we:
Here we carouse,
Singing like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.
Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free,
Life is but short--
When we are gone,
Let them sing on
Round the old tree.
Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;
Faces we miss,
Pleasant to see,
Kind hearts and true,
Gentle and just,
Peace to your dust,
We sing round the tree.
Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we'll be!
Drink, every one;
Pile up the coals,
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree!
Drain we the cup--
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;
Let us forget,
Round the old tree.
Sorrow, begone!
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Blue-devil sprite,
Leave us to-night
Round the old tree.
_William Makepeace Thackeray._
A CHRISTMAS CEREMONY.
Wassail the trees, that they may bear
You many a plum and many a pear;
For more or less fruits they will bring
As you do give them wassailing.
_Robert Herrick._
WITH CAKES AND ALE.
With cakes and ale, and antic ring
Well tiptoed to the tabor string,
And many a buss below the holly,
And flout at sable melancholy--
So, with a rouse, went Christmassing!
What! are no latter waits to sing?
No clog to blaze? No wit to wing?
Are catches gone, and dimpled Dolly,
With cakes and ale?
Nay, an you will, behold the thing:
The spicéd meat, the minstreling!
Undo Misrule, and many a volley
Of losel snatches born of folly--
Bring back the cheer, be Christmas-king,
With cakes and ale!
_H. S. M._
THE MASQUE OF CHRISTMAS.
(AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT, 1616.)
_The Court being seated_,
_Enter_ CHRISTMAS, _with two or three of the guard, attired in round
hose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high-crowned hat, with a
brooch, a long, thin beard, a truncheon, little ruffs, white shoes,
his scarfs and garters tied cross, and his drum beaten before him._
Why, gentlemen, do you know what you do? ha! would you have kept me
out? Christmas, old Christmas, Christmas of London, and Captain
Christmas? Pray you, let me be brought before my lord chamberlain,
I'll not be answered else: _'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all:_
I have seen the time you have wish'd for me for a merry Christmas; and
now you have me, they would not let me in: _I must come another time!_
a good jest, as if I could come more than once a year! Why, I am no
dangerous person, and so I told my friends of the guard. I am old
Gregory Christmas still, and though I come out of Pope's-head alley,
as good a Protestant as any in my parish. The truth is, I have brought
a Masque here, out o' the city, of my own making, and do present it by
a set of my sons, that come out of the lanes of London, good dancing
boys all. It was intended, I confess, for Curriers Hall; but because
the weather has been open, and the Livery were not at leisure to see
it till a frost came, that they cannot work, I thought it convenient,
with some little alterations, and the groom of the revels' hand to 't,
to fit it for a higher place; which I have done, and though I say it,
another manner of device than your New-Year's-night. Bones o' bread,
the king! (_seeing King James._) Son Rowland! Son Clem! be ready there
in a trice: quick, boys!
_Enter his Sons and Daughters, (ten in number,) led in, in a string,
by Cupid, who is attired in a flat cap, and a prentice's coat, with
wings at his shoulders._
MISRULE, _in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short cloak, great yellow
ruff, like a reveller, his torch-bearer bearing a rope, a cheese,
and a basket._
CAROL, _a long tawny coat, with a red cap, and a flute at his
girdle, his torch-bearer carrying a song-book open._
MINCED-PIE, _like a fine cook's wife, drest neat; her man carrying a
pie, dish, and spoons._
GAMBOL, _like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells; his torch-bearer
armed with a colt-staff, and a binding cloth._
POST AND PAIR, _with a pair-royal of aces in his hat; his garment
all done over with pairs and purs; his squire carrying a box, cards,
and counters._
NEW-YEAR'S-GIFT, _in a blue coat, serving-man like, with an orange,
and a sprig of rosemary gilt on his head, his hat full of brooches,
with a collar of ginger-bread, his torch-bearer carrying a
march-pane with a bottle of wine on either arm._