December / H. Cordelia Ray

from The Procession of the Seasons

December

List! List! the sleigh bells peal across the snow;

The frost's sharp arrows touch the earth and lo!
How diamond-bright the stars to scintillate
When Night hath lit hr lamps to Heaven's gate.
To the dim forest's cloistered arches go,
And seek the holly and the mistletoe;
For soon the bells of Christmas-tide will ring
To hail the Heavenly King!

~~
H. Cordelia Ray (1852-1916)
from Poems, 1910

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[January]

H. Cordelia Ray biography

With trembling fingers did we weave / Alfred Tennyson

XXX

With trembling fingers did we weave
    The holly round the Chrismas hearth;
    A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas eve.

At our old pastimes in the hall
    We gambol'd, making vain pretence
    Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.

We paused: the winds were in the beech
    We heard them sweep the winter land
    And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.

Then echo-like our voices rang;
    We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
    A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:

We ceased: a gentler feeling crept
    Upon us: surely rest is meet:
    "They rest," we said, "their sleep is sweet,"
And silence follow'd, and we wept.

Our voices took a higher range;
    Once more we sang: “They do not die
    Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;

"Rapt from the fickle and the frail
    With gather'd power, yet the same,
    Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil."

Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
    Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
    O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.

~~
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
from In Memoriam A.H.H., 1850

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Alfred Tennyson biography

The Holly and the Ivy

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 rising of the sun,
     The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
     The singing in the choir.

The holly bears a blossom
     As white as the lily flower,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     To be our sweet Saviour.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly bears a berry
      As red as any blood,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     To do poor sinners good.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly bears a prickle
     As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     On Christmas day in the morn.

The rising of the sun . . .

The holly bears a bark
     As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
     For to reedem us all.

The rising of the sun . . .

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 rising of the sun,
     The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
     The singing in the choir.

~~
Anonymous, 18th century
from A Garland of Christmas Carols, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain]

"The Holly and the Ivy" sung by Annie Lennox. Courtesy scamparoo.

Under the Holly Bough / Charles Mackay

Under the Holly Bough

Ye who have scorned each other,
Or injured friend or brother,
     In this fast-fading year;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
     Come gather here!

Let sinned against and sinning
Forget their strife's beginning,
     And join in friendship now.
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken
     Under the Holly-Bough.

Ye who have loved each other,
Sister and friend and brother,
    In this fast-fading year:
Mother and sire and child,
Young man and maiden mild,
    Come gather here;

And let your heart grow fonder,
As memory shall ponder
    Each past unbroken vow;
Old loves and younger wooing
Are sweet in the renewing
     Under the Holly-Bough.

Ye who have nourished sadness,
Estranged from hope and gladness
     In this fast-fading year;
Ye with o'erburdened mind,
Made aliens from your kind,
     Come gather here.

Let not the useless sorrow
Pursue you night and morrow,
     If e'er you hoped, hope now.
Take heart,— uncloud your faces,
And join in our embraces
     Under the Holly-Bough.

~~
Charles Mackay (1814-1889)
from Christmas with the Poets, 1881

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Towson High Music, "Under the Holly Bough"

Charles Mackay biography

Christmas Bells / Edward Capern

Christmas Bells

Ring out ye merry bells, welcome bright icicles,
Welcome old holly-crowned Christmas again,
Blythe as a child at play, keeping his holiday.
Welcome him in from the snow peak and plain.
Up with the holly bough, green from the winter’s brow;
Lock up your ledgers and cares for a day,
Out to the forest go, gather the mistletoe,
Old and young, rich and poor, up and away.

Up with the holly bough, ay and the laurel now,
In with the yule log and brighten the hearth.
Quick, he is here again, come with his joyous train:
Laughter and music and friendship and mirth.
Up with your holly boughs, high in each manor house,
Garnish the antlers that hang in the hall;
Yes, and the neck of corn with a gay wreath adorn,
Rich as the bloom on the cottager’s wall.

Wealth has its duties now, Christians you will allow;
Think then ye rich whilst your tables are spread?
Think of those wretched ones, poverty’s stricken sons,
Weeping whilst children are asking for bread.
Ring out ye merry bells, ring till your music swells,
Out o’er the mountain, and far on the main.
Ring till those cheerless ones catch up your merry tones,
Singing come Christmas again and again.

~~
Edward Capern (1819-1894)

from The Devonshire Melodist, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Edward Capern biography

"Christmas Bells" performed by Nick Wyke and Becki Driscoll. Courtesy Halsway Manor.

Again at Christmas did we weave / Alfred Tennyson

LXXVIII

Again at Christmas did we weave
      The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possess'd the earth,
      And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:

The yule-log sparkled keen with frost,
     No wing of wind the region swept,
     But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

As in the winters left behind,
     Again our ancient games had place,
     The mimic picture's breathing grace,
And dance and song and hoodman-blind.

Who show'd a token of distress?
     No single tear, no mark of pain:
     O sorrow, then can sorrow wane?
O grief, can grief be changed to less?

O last regret, regret can die!
     No – mixt with all this mystic frame,
     Her deep relations are the same,
But with long use her tears are dry.

~~
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
from In Memoriam A.H.H., 1850

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Alfred Tennyson biography