Christmas - Various

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caskets of gold with golden keys;

       Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows

       Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

       Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

       And so the Three Kings rode into the West,

       Through the dusk of night over hill and dell,

       And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,

       And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,

       With the people they met at some wayside well.

       "Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,

       "Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;

       For we in the East have seen his star,

       And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

       To find and worship the King of the Jews."

       And the people answered, "You ask in vain;

       We know of no king but Herod the Great!"

       They thought the Wise Men were men insane,

       As they spurred their horses across the plain

       Like riders in haste who cannot wait.

       And when they came to Jerusalem,

       Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,

       Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

       And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

       And bring me tidings of this new king."

       So they rode away, and the star stood still,

       The only one in the gray of morn;

       Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,

       Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

       The city of David where Christ was born.

       And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,

       Through the silent street, till their horses turned

       And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;

       But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,

       And only a light in the stable burned.

       And cradled there in the scented hay,

       In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

       The little child in the manger lay,

       The Child that would be King one day

       Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

       His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

       Sat watching beside his place of rest,

       Watching the even flow of his breath,

       For the joy of life and the terror of death

       Were mingled together in her breast.

       They laid their offerings at his feet:

       The gold was their tribute to a King;

       The frankincense, with its odor sweet,

       Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;

       The myrrh for the body's burying.

       And the mother wondered and bowed her head,

       And sat as still as a statue of stone;

       Her heart was troubled yet comforted,

       Remembering what the angel had said

       Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

       Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

       With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;

       But they went not back to Herod the Great,

       For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

       And returned to their homes by another way.

      HYMN ON THE NATIVITY

      JOHN MILTON

      It was the winter wild,

       While the heaven-born child

       All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;

       Nature, in awe of him,

       Had doffed her gaudy trim,

       With her great Master so to sympathize:

       It was no season then for her

       To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

       Only with speeches fair

       She wooes the gentle air,

       To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;

       And on her naked shame,

       Pollute with sinful blame,

       The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw;

       Confounded, that her Maker's eyes

       Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

       But he, her fears to cease,

       Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:

       She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding

       Down through the turning sphere,

       His ready harbinger,

       With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;

       And, waving wide her myrtle wand,

       She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

       No war or battle's sound

       Was heard the world around:

       The idle spear and shield were high uphung;

       The hookèd chariot stood

       Unstained with hostile blood;

       The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng;

       And kings sat still with awful eye,

       As if they surely knew their sovereign lord was by.

       But peaceful was the night,

       Wherein the Prince of Light

       His reign of peace upon the earth began:

       The winds, with wonder whist,

       Smoothly the waters kissed,

       Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,

       Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

       While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.

       The stars, with deep amaze,

       Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,

       Bending one way their precious influence;

       And will not take their flight,

       For all the morning light,

       Or Lucifer had often warned them thence:

       But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

       Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

       And, though the shady gloom

       Had given day her room,

       The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

       And hid his head for shame.

       As his inferior flame

       The new-enlightened world no more should need;

       He saw a greater sun appear

       Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear.

       The shepherds on the lawn,

       Or ere the point of dawn,

       Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;

       Full little thought they then

      

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