Christmas poems

Behold, as Goblins Dark of Mien

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Behold, as goblins dark of mien

And portly tyrants dyed with crime

Change, in the transformation scene,

At Christmas, in the pantomime,

Instanter, at the prompter's cough,

The fairy bonnets them, and they

Throw their abhorred carbuncles off

And blossom like the flowers in May.

- So mankind, to angelic eyes,

So, through the scenes of life below,

In life's ironical disguise,

A travesty of man, ye go:

But fear not: ere the curtain fall,

Death in the transformation scene

Steps forward from her pedestal,

Apparent, as the fairy Queen;

And coming, frees you in a trice

From all your lendings - lust of fame,

Ungainly virtue, ugly vice,

Terror and tyranny and shame.

So each, at last himself, for good

In that dear country lays him down,

At last beloved and understood

And pure in feature and renown.

Beggar's Rhyme

Traditional

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat,

Please to put a penny in the old man's hat;

If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do,

If you haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you.

Bethlehem of Judea

Author Unknown

A little child,

A shining star.

A stable rude,

The door ajar.

Yet in that place,

So crude, folorn,

The Hope of all

The world was born.

A Carol for the Children

by Ogden Nash

God rest you merry, Innocents,

Let nothing you dismay,

Let nothing wound an eager heart

Upon this Christmas day.

Yours be the genial holly wreaths,

The stockings and the tree;

An aged world to you bequeths

Its own forgotten glee.

Soon, soon enough come cureller gifts,

The anger and the tears;

Between you now there sparsely drifts

A handful yet of years.

Oh, dimly, dimly glows the star

Through the electric throng;

The bidding in temple and bazaar

Drowns out the silver song.

The ancient altars smoke afresh,

The ancient idols stir;

Faint in the reek of burning flesh

Sink frankincense and myrrh.

Gaspar, Balthazar, Melchior!

Where are your offerings now?

What greetings to the Prince of War,

His darkly branded brow?

Two ultimate laws alone we know,

The ledger and the sword --

So far away, so long ago,

We lost the infant Lord.

Only the children clasp His hand;

His voice speaks low to them,

And still for them the shining band

Wings over Bethlehem.

God rest you merry, Innocents,

While innocence endures,

A sweeter Christmas than we to ours

May you bequeath to yours.

A Catch by the Hearth

Traditional English

Sing we all merrily

Christmas is here,

The day that we love best

Of the days in the year.

Bring forth the holly,

The box, and the bay,

Deck out our cottage

For glad Christmas-day.

Sing we all merrily

Draw around the fire,

Sister and brother,

Grandsire, and sire.

Christmas

by W.H. Davies

Christmas has come, let's eat and drink---

This is no time to sit and think;

Farewell to study, books and pen,

And welcome to all kinds of men.

Let all men now get rid of care,

Then 'tis the same, no matter which

Of us is poor, or which is rich.

Let each man have enough this day,

Since those that can are glad to pay;

There's nothing now too rich or good

For poor men, not the King's own food.

Now like a singing bird my feet

Touch earth, and I must drink and eat.

Welcome to all men: I'll not care

What any of my fellows wear;

We'll not let cloth divide our souls,

They'll swim stark naked in the bowls.

Welcome, poor beggar: I'll not see

That hand of yours dislodge a flea,

While you sit at my side and beg,

Or right foot scratching your left leg.

Farewell restraint: we will not now

Measure the ale our brains allow,

But drink as much as we can hold.

We'll count no change when we spend gold;

This is not time to save, but spend

To give for nothing, not to lend.

Let foes make friends: let them forget

The mischief-making dead that fret

the living with complaint like this --

"He wronged us once, hate him and his.."

Christmas has come; let every man

Eat, drink, be merry all he can.

Ale's my best mark, but if port wine

Or whisky's yours -- let it be mine;

No matter what lies in the bowls,

We'll make it rich with our own souls.

Farewell to study, books and pen,

And welcome to all kinds of men.

Christmas Carol

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Ring out, ye bells!

All Nature swells

With gladness of the wondrous story,

The world was lorn,

But Christ is born

To change our sadness into glory.

Sing, earthlings, sing!

To-night a King

hath come from heaven's high throne to bless us.

The outstretched hand

O'er all the land

Is raised in pity to caress us.

Come at His call;

Be joyful all;

Away with mourning and with sadness!

The heavenly choir

With holy fire

Their voices raise in songs of gladness.

The darkness breaks

And Dawn awakes,

Her cheeks suffused with youthful blushes.

The rocks and stones

In holy tones

Are singing sweeter than the thrushes.

Then why should we

In silence be,

When Nature lends her voice to praises;

When heaven and earth

Proclaim the truth

Of Him for whom that lone star blazes?

No, be not still,

But with a will

Strike all your harps and set them ringing;

On hill and heath

Let every breath

Throw all its power into singing!

A Christmas Carol

by G.K. Chesterton, 1900

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.

Christmas Eve in our Village

by Phyllis McGinley

Main Street is gay. Each lamppost glimmers,

Crowned with a blue, electric star.

The gift tree by our fountain shimmers,

Superbly tall, if angular

(Donated by the Men's Bazaar).

With garlands proper to the times

Our doors are wreathed, our lintels strewn.

From our two steeples sound the chimes,

Incessant, through the afternoon,

Only a little out of tune.

Breathless, with boxes hard to handle,

The grocery drivers come and go.

Madam the Chairman lights a candle

To introduce our club's tableau.

The hopeful children pray for snow.

They cluster, mittened, in the park

To talk of morning, half affrighted,

And early comes the winter dark

And early are our windows lighted

To beckon homeward the benighted.

The eggnog's lifted for libation,

Silent at last the postman's ring,

But on the plaza near the station

The carolers are caroling.

"O Little Town!" the carolers sing.

Christmas Greetings

(From a Fairy to a Child)

by Lewis Carroll

Lady dear, if Fairies may

For a moment lay aside

Cunning tricks and elfish play,

'Tis at happy Christmas-tide.

We have heard the children say -

Gentle children, whom we love -

Long ago, on Christmas Day,

Came a message from above.

Still, as Christmas-tide comes round,

They remember it again -

Echo still the joyful sound

"Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Yet the hearts must childlike be

Where such heavenly guests abide:

Unto children, in their glee,

All the year is Christmas-tide!

Thus, forgetting tricks and play

For a moment, Lady dear,

We would wish you, if we may,

Merry Christmas, glad New Year!

Christmas Poem

by G.K. Chesterton

There fared a mother driven forth

Out of an inn to roam;

In the place where she was homeless

All men are at home.

The crazy stable close at hand,

With shaking timber and shifting sand,

Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand

Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,

And strangers under the sun,

And they lay their heads in a foreign land

Whenever the day is done.

Here we have battle and blazing eyes,

And chance and honour and high surprise,

But our homes are under miraculous skies

Where the yule tale was begun.

A child in a foul stable,

Where the beasts feed and foam;

Only where He was homeless

Are you and I at home;

We have hands that fashion and heads that know,

But our hearts we lost---how long ago!

In a place no chart nor ship can show

Under the sky's dome.

This world is wild as an old wife's tale,

And strange the plain things are,

The earth is enough and the air is enough

For our wonder and our war;

But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings

And our peace is put in impossible things

Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings

Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening

Home shall all men come,

To an older place than Eden

And a taller town than Rome.

To the end of the way of the wandering star,

To the things that cannot be and that are,

To the place where God was homeless

And all men are at home.

Christmas Greeting

Traditional

Sing hey! Sing hey!

For Christmas Day;

Twine mistletoe and holly,

For friendship glows

In winter snows,

And so let's all be jolly.

Hold, Men, Hold!

Traditional English

Hold, men, hold!

Be there loaf in your locker

And sheep in your fold,

A fire on your hearth,

And good luck for your lot,

Money in your pocket,

And a pudding in the pot!

Hold, men, hold!

Hold, men, hold! we are very cold,

Inside and outside it is very cold.

If you don't give us silver, then give us gold

From the money in your pockets.

Hold, men, hold!

God Almighty bless your hearth and fold,

Shut out the wolf, and keep out the cold!

Give us the silver and you keep the gold,

For 'tis money in your pockets!

Hold, men, hold!

Let's Have Music!

by Richard Hill

Lett no man cum into this hall,

Grome, page, nor yet marshall,

But that sum sport he bryng withall;

For now ys the tyme of Crystymas!

Yff that he say he can not sing

Some oder sport then let him bring,

That yt may please at thys festyng;

For now ys the tyme of Crystymas!

Yff he say he can nowght do,

Then for my love aske hym no mo,

but to the stokkis then lett hym go;

For now ys the tyme of Crystymas!

Long, Long Ago

Author Unknown

Winds thro'the olive trees

Softly did blow,

Round little Bethlehem

Long, long ago.

Sheep on the hillside lay

Whiter than snow;

Shepherds were watching them,

Long, long ago.

Then from the happy sky,

Angels bent low,

Singin their songs of joy,

Long, long ago.

For in a manger bed,

Cradled we know,

Christ came to Bethlehem,

Long, long ago.

Santa Claus

Author Unknown

He comes in the night! He comes in the night!

He softly, silently comes;

While the little brown heads on the pillows so white

Are dreaming of bugles and drums.

He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,

While the white flakes around him whirl;

Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home

Of each good little boy and girl.

His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;

It will carry a host of things,

While dozens of drums hang over the side,

With the sticks sticking under the strings.

And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,

Not a bugle blast is blown,

As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,

And drops to the hearth like a stone.

The little red stockings he silently fills,

Till the stockings will hold no more;

The bright little sleds for the great snow hills

Are quickly set down on the floor.

Then Santa Claus mont to the roof like a bird,

And glides to his seat in the sleigh;

Not a sound of a bugle or drum is heard

As he noiselessly gallops away.

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,

Of his goodies he touches not one;

He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast

When the dear little folks are done.

Old Santa Claus doeth all tht he can;

This beautiful mission is his;

Then, children be good to the little old man,

When you find who the little man is.

What Can I Give Him?

by Christina Rossetti

"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 can I give Him?

Give my heart."

When Santa Claus Comes

Author Unknown

A good time is coming, I wish it were here,

The very best time in the whole of the year;

I'm counting each day on my fingers and thumbs --

the weeks that must pass before Santa Claus comes.

Then when the first snowflakes begin to come down,

And the wind whistles sharp and the branches are brown,

I'll not mind the cold, though my fingers it numbs,

For it brings the time nearer when Santa Claus comes.