 How did they keep his birthday then, the little fair Christ, so long ago? O many there were to be housed unfed, and there was no place in the inn, they said, so into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle, and not with men. The ox and the ass they munched their hay, they munched and they slumbered, wondering not, and out in the midnight cold and blue, the shepherds slept, and the sheep slept, too, till the angel's song and the bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all, for the little Christ in the oxen stall, and we are angry and amazed that such a dull hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells, and we raise the strain, we hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine-old lives again. Are we so better, then, than they who failed the newborn Christ to see, to them a helpless babe? To us he shines a saviour glorious, our Lord, our friend, our all. But we are half asleep this Christmas day. And I'll pull them. This recording is in the public domain. Christmas by Susan Coolidge, read for Libbervox.org by Chad Horner from Pallyclair in Coneyundry, Northern Ireland, situated in the northeast of the island of Ireland. How did they keep his birthday, then? The little fair Jesus so long ago, oh, many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle, and not with men. The oxen they asked, they munched their hay, they munched, and they slumbered, wondering not, and out in the midnight cold and blue. The shepherd slept, and the sheep slept too, so the angel's song and the bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot, but only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ in the oxen stall, and we are angry and amazed that such a dull hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells and we raise the strain, we hang up garlands everywhere, and bed the tapers, twinkle fair, and feast and follick, and then we go back to the mine old lives again. Are we so better, then, than they, who failed the newborn Christ to see, to them a helpless babe? To us he shines, a saviour, glorious, our lord, our friend, and all yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. And upon this recording is in the public domain. Christmas by Susan Coolidge Read for LibriVox.org by Chris Pyle How did they keep his birthday, then, the little fair Christ so long ago? Oh, many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go to lodge with the cattle and not with men. The oxen, the ass, they munched their hay, they munched and they slumbered, wondering not. And out in the midnight cold and blue, the shepherd slept, and the sheep slept too. Till the angel's song and the bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see. And the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ and the oxen stall. And we are angry and amazed, that such a dull, hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells and we raise the strain. We hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine old lives again. Are we so better then than they who failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe, to us he shines a saviour glorious. Our Lord, our friend, our all. Yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. Christmas by Susan Coolidge, read for LibriVox.org by Fenman. How did they keep his birthday then? The little fair Christ so long ago. Oh, many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle, and not with men. The ox and the ass they munched their hay, they munched and they slumbered, wondering not, and out in the midnight cold and blue, the shepherd slept, and the sheep slept too. So the angel song and the bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all, for the little Christ in the oxen store. Yet we are angry and amazed that such a dull hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells, and we raise the strain. We hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go, back to the mine, old lives again. Are we so better then than they, who've failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe, to us he shines a saviour glorious. Our Lord, our friend, our all, yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. How did they keep his birthday then, the little fair Christ, so long ago? Oh, many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle, and not with men. The oxen they asked, they munched their hay. They munched and they slumbered, wondering not, and out in the midnight cold and blue, the shepherd slept, and the sheep slept, too, till the angel's song and the bright star way guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherd came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ in the oxen stall, and we are angry and amazed that such a dull, hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells and we raise the strain, we hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine old lives again. Are we so better, then, than they who failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe! To us he shines a saviour glorious, our Lord, our friend, our all. Yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. How did they keep his birthday then, the little fair Christ so long ago? Oh, many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said, so into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle and not with men. The ox and the ass they munched their hay, they munched and they slumbered, wondering not, and out in the midnight cold and blue the shepherds slept and the sheep slept too, so the angel's song and the bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ in the oxen's stall. And we are angry and amazed at such a dull hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells and we raise the strain, we hang up garland everywhere and bid the tapers twinkle fair and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine-old lives again. Are we so better then than they who failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe, to us he shines a saviour glorious, our Lord, our friend, our all, yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. Christmas by Susan Coolidge. Read for LibriVox.org by Jim Gallagher. How did they keep his birthday then, the little fair Christ so long ago? O many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no room in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle and not with the men. The oxen the ass they munched their hay, they munched and they slumbered, wondering not. And out in the midnight cold and blue the shepherd slept and the sheep slept too, till the angel's song and the bright star-ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ in the oxen's stall. But we are angry and amazed that such a dull hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells and we raise the strain. We hang up garland everywhere, embed the tapers, twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine, old lives again. Are we so better than they, who've failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe to us. He shines as saviour glorious. Our Lord, our friend, our all, yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Christmas by Susan Coolidge. Read for Librevox.org by Kevin Barbudo. How do they keep his birthday, then, the little fair Christ so long ago? Oh, many there were to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle and not with the men. The ox and the ass they munched their hay, they munched and they slumbered, wondering not, and out in the midnight cold and blue the shepherd slept, and the sheep slept too. Till the angel's song and the bright star-ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and prayed, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ and the ox and stall, and we are angry and amazed that such a dull, hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells and we raise the strain. We hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine, old lives again. Are we so better, then, than they, who failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe. To us he shines a saviour glorious, our Lord, our friend, our all. Yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. End of poem. This recording's in the public domain. Christmas by Susan Coolidge. Read for LibriVox.org by Matt Tantillo. How did they keep his birthday, then, the little fair Christ, so long ago? Oh, many there were to be housed in fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. So into the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle, and not with men. The ox and the ash, they munched their hay. They munched and they slumbered, wondering not. And out in the midnight cold and blue the shepherd slept, and the sheep slept, too. So the angels sung, and their bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and prayed, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ in the ox install. And we are angry and amazed that such a dull, hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday, now? We ring the bells, and we raise the strain. We hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic. And then we go back to the mine, old lives again. Are we so better than they, who failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe, to us he shines, a savior glorious. Our Lord, our friend, our all. But we are half asleep this Christmas Day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Christmas by Susan Coolidge, read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf. How did they keep his birthday then, the little fair Christ, so long ago? Oh, many there were, to be housed and fed, and there was no place in the inn, they said. To the manger the Christ must go, to lodge with the cattle, and not with men. The ox and the ass, they munched their hay. They munched and they slumbered, and wondering not. And out in the midnight cold and blue the shepherd slept, and the sheep slept too, till the angel's song and the bright star ray guided the wise men to the spot. But only the wise men knelt and praised, and only the shepherds came to see, and the rest of the world cared not at all for the little Christ in the oxen stall. And we are angry and amazed that such a dull hard thing should be. How do we keep his birthday now? We ring the bells, and we raise the strain. We hang up garland everywhere, and bid the tapers twinkle fair, and feast and frolic, and then we go back to the mine, old lives again. Are we so better than they who failed the newborn Christ to see? To them a helpless babe. To us he shines a Savior glorious, our Lord, our friend, our all. Yet we are half asleep this Christmas day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.