 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Ballad of Old Loves by Carolyn Wells. Who is it stands on the polished stair, a merry laughing-winsome maid, from the Christmas rose in her golden hair to the high-heeled slippers of spangled swayed, a glance half-daring and half-afraid gleams from her roguish eyes downcast. Already the vision begins to fade. It is only a ghost of a Christmas past. Who is it sits in that high-backed chair, quaintly in rough and patcherade, with a mockery gay of a stately air as she rustles the folds of her old brocade, merriest heart at the masquerade? Ah! but the picture is passing fast, back to the darkness from which it strayed. It is only a ghost of a Christmas past. Who is it whirls in a ballroom's glare, her soft white hand on my shoulder-laid, like a radiant lily, tall and fair, while the violins in the corner played the wailing strains of the serenade? Oh lovely vision! Too sweet to last! Even now, my fancy, it will evade. It is only a ghost of a Christmas past. Long voy! Rosamund looked not so dismayed. All of my heart, dear love, thou hast, jealous beloved of a shade, tis only a ghost of a Christmas past. And a ballad of old loves. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. THE BEAUTIFUL MOTHER The beautiful mother is bending low where her baby lies helpless and frail for her tending, but she knows the glorious eyes. The mother smiles and rejoices while the baby laughs in the hay. She listens to heavenly voices. The child shall be king one day. Oh dear little Christ in the manger, let me make merry with thee. O king in my hour of danger, wilt thou be strong for me? AND THE BEAUTIFUL MOTHER This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. THE BLOOMING OF THE WHITE THORN EDATH MATILDA TOMAS God shield ye comrades of the road, and while our way we hold, list I tell you how it first befell in the wondrous days of old. From off the sea the pilgrims came with sea-toil wracked and worn. The air blew keen, and the frost was sheen upon that wintry morn. Through Glastonbury Street went they, and ever on, and on, till they passed the well of the fairy spell on the oak of Avalon. They hear the rustling leaves and few that linger on the bow, but still they fare through the bitter air, and climb a hill-slope now. On weary all hill their feet they stay, full well that hill ye know, there may they rest by toil oppressed, while round them drops the snow. And one, far gone in age was he, as snow his locks were white, the staff of Thorn which he had borne did plant upon that height. A Thorn sticked dry that pilgrim staff he set it in the ground, and swift as sight with Blossom's white the branching staff was crowned. Each year since then, if sooth men say, upon this blessed morn, who climbs that hill may see at will the flower upon the Thorn. How ere the wind may drive the sleet that Thorn will blooming be, and some have seen a fair child lean from out that Blossomed tree, one moment only then a pace both flower and leaf are shorn, and gaunt and chill on weary all hill there stands an ancient Thorn. God shield ye comrades of the road with grace your spirits fill, that ye may see the white Thorn tree a bloom on weary all hill. And the Blooming of the White Thorn. This is the season when, agreeably to custom, that it was an honour to send Wasseil by the old people who were happy in their time, and loved pleasure. And we are now proposing to be like them every one merry, merry and foolish, youths are want to be, being reproached for squandering abroad. I know that every mirth will end too soon of itself. Before it is ended, here comes the Wasseil of merry for the sake of the time. Merry placed the maid immediately in the chair before us, and let everybody in the house be content that we may drink Wasseil to virginity, to remember the time in faithfulness when fair merry was at the sacrifice after the birth to her of a son who delivered every one, through his good will, from their sins without doubt. Should there be an inquiry who made the carol, he is the man whose trust is fully on God, that he shall go to heaven to the effligent merry towards filling the orders where she also is. A Carol from Flanders by Frederick Niven In Flanders on the Christmas Mourn the Trenched Fomen Lay, the German and the Britain-born, and it was Christmas Day. The red sun rose on fields accursed, the grey fog fled away, but neither cared to fire the first, for it was Christmas Day. They called from each to each across the hideous disarray, for terrible had been their loss. Oh, this is Christmas Day. Their rifles all they set aside, one impulse to obey, to adjust the men on either side, just men, and Christmas Day. They dug the graves for all their dead, and over them did pray, and Englishmen and Germans said, How strange a Christmas Day. In the trenches then they met shook hands, and in did play at games on which their hearts were set, on happy Christmas Day. Not all the emperors and kings, financiers, and they who rule us, could prevent these things, for it was Christmas Day. Oh ye who read this truthful rhyme from Flanders, kneel, and say, God speed the time when every day shall be as Christmas Day. End of A Carol from Flanders This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Child's Song of Christmas by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. My counterpane is soft as silk, my blankets white as creamy milk. The hay was soft to him, I know, our little lord of long ago. Above the roasts the pigeons fly in silver wheels across the sky, the stable doves they cood to them, Mary and Christ in Bethlehem. Bright shines the sun across the drifts, and bright upon my Christmas gifts they brought him incense, myrrh, and gold, our little lord who lived of old. Oh, soft and clear our mother sings of Christmas joys and Christmas things, God's holy angels sang to them, Mary and Christ in Bethlehem, our hearts they hold all Christmas dear, and earth seems sweet and heaven seems near. Oh, heaven was in his sight, I know, that little child of long ago. End of A Child's Song of Christmas. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. THE CHILD JESUS IN THE GARDEN Author unknown. Cold was the day when in a garden bear walked the child Jesus, wrapped in holy thought. His brow seemed clouded with a weight of care, calmness and rest from worldly things he sought. Soon was his presence missed within his home, his mother gently marked his every way. Fourth then she came to seek where he did roam, full of sweet words, his trouble to allay. Through chilling snow she toiled to reach his side, forcing her way mid-branches brown and sear, hastening that she his sorrows might divide, share all his woe, or calm his gloomy fear. Sweet was her face, as or his head she bent, longing to melt his look of saddest grief. With lifted eyes, his ear to her he lent. Her kindly solace brought his soul relief. Then did he smile, a smile of love so deep, winter himself grew warm beneath its glow. From drooping branches scented blossoms peep. Up springs the grass, the sealed fountains flow. Summer and spring did with each other vie, offering to him the fragrance of their store. Chanting sweet notes the birds around him fly, wondering why earth has checkered so her floor. And the Child Jesus in the Garden Christmas at Melrose by Leslie Pickney Hill, read for LibriVox.org by Doug Anderson Come home with me a little space and browse about our ancient place. Lay by your wanted troubles here and have a turn of Christmas cheer. These sober walls of weathered stone can tell a romance of their own, and these wide rooms of devious line are kindly meant in their design. Sometimes the north wind searches through, but he shall not be rude to you. We'll light a log of generous girth for winter comfort, and the mirth of healthy children you shall see about the sparkling Christmas tree. Eleanor, leader of the fold, Hermione with heart of gold, Elaine with comprehending eyes, and two more yet of coddling sighs, Natalie pondering all that said, and Mary with the cherub's head. All these shall give you sweet content and care-destroying merriment, while one with true Madonna grace moves round the glowing fireplace where father loves to muse aside and grandma sits in silent pride. And you may chafe the wasting oak, or freely pass the kindly joke to mix with nuts and home-made cake and apples set on coals to bake. Or some fine carol we will sing in honour of the manger king, or hear great Milton's organ verse, or Plato's dialogue rehearse what Socrates with his last breath sublimely said of life and death. These dear delights we feign would share with friend and kinsman everywhere, and from our door see them depart each with a little lighter heart. End of Poem This recording is in the public domain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Carol by Christian Burke. The trees are hung with crystal lamps, the world lies still and white, and the myriad little twinkling stars are sharp with keener light. The moon sails up the frost-clear sky and silvers all the snow, as she did for chance that Christmas night two thousand years ago. Good people, are you waking? Give us food and give us wine. For the sake of blessed Mary and her infant son, Divine, who was born the world's redeemer, a Saviour, yours and mine. Long ago angelic harpers sang the song we sing today, and the drowsy folk of Bethlehem may have listened as they lay, but eager shepherds left their flocks and o'er the desert wild the kingly sages journeyed to adore the holy child. Has any man a quarrel? Has another used you ill? The friendly word you meant to say, is that unspoken still? Then remember it was the angels brought glad tidings of good will. Of all the gifts of Christmas are you feigned to win the best? Lo, the Christ child still is waiting himself to be your guest. No lot so high or lowly, but he will take his part if you do but bid him welcome to a clean and tender heart. Are you sleeping? Are you waking? To the manger haste away, and you shall see a wondrous sight amid the straw and hay, his love himself incarnate as on this Christmas day. End of A Christmas Carol by Christian Burke This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson A Christmas Carol by Gilbert Keith Chesterton The Christ child lay on Mary's lap, his hair was like a light. O weary, weary were the world, but here is all right. 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. End A Christmas Carol by G. K. Chesterton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson A Christmas Carol by Samuel T. Coleridge The shepherds went their hasty way, and found the lowly stable shed where the Virgin Mother lay, and now they checked their eager tread for, to the babe that to her bosom clung, a mother's song, the Virgin Mother's song. They told her how a glorious light streaming from a heavenly throng around them shone, suspending night. While sweeter than a mother's song, blessed angels heralded the Saviour's birth, glory to God on high, and peace on earth. She listened to the tale divine, and closer still the babe she pressed, and while she cried, the babe is mine, the milk rushed faster to her breast. Joy rose within her, like a summer's mourn. Peace, peace on earth, the Prince of Peace is born. Thou, mother of the Prince of Peace, poor, simple, and of low estate, that strife should vanish, battle cease. Oh, why should this, thy soul elate? Sweet music's loudest note, the poet's story. Dits thou nearer love to hear of fame and glory? And does not war a youthful king, a stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurel spring, him earth's majestic monarchs hail their friend, their playmate, and his bold bright eye compels the maiden's love confessing sigh. Tell this, in some more courtly scene, to maids and youths in robes of state? I am a woman, poor and mean, and, therefore, is my soul elate. Poor is a Ruffian, all with guilt defiled, that from the aged father tears his child. A murderous fiend by fiends adored, he kills the sire and starves the son. The husband kills, and from her board steals all his widow's toil had won. Plunder's god's world of beauty rends away all safety from the night, all comfort from the day. Then wisely is my soul elate, that strife should vanish, battle cease. I'm poor and of low estate, the mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me like a summer's mourn. Peace, peace on earth, the Prince of Peace is born. End A Christmas Carol by Samuel T. Coleridge This reading by Doug Anderson A Christmas Carol by Audrey Devere They leave the land of gems and gold, the shining portals of the east, for him the woman's seed foretold they leave the revel and the feast. To earth their sceptres they have cast and crowns by King's ancestral warn. They track the lonely Syrian waste they kneel before the babe, newborn. O happy eyes that saw him first, O happy lips that kissed his feet, earth slakes at last her ancient thirst, with Eden's joy her pulses beat. True Kings are those who thus forsake their kingdoms for the Eternal King. Serpent her foot is on thy neck. Herod, thou writhest, but canst not sting. He, he is King, and he alone who lifts that infant hand to bless, who makes his mother's knee his throne, yet rules the starry wilderness. End A Christmas Carol by Audrey Devere This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Carol by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow I hear a long hour's street past the minstrel throngs. Hark! they play so sweet on their hot boys' Christmas songs. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. In December ring every day the chimes. Loud the gleam and sing. In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. Shepherds at the Grange, where the babe was born, sang with many a change, Christmas carols until mourn. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. These good people sang songs devout and sweet, while the rafters rang. They stood there with freezing feet. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. These infrigid cells at this holy tide, for want of something else, Christmas songs at times have tried. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. Washerwoman old to the sound they beat, sing by rivers cold, with uncovered heads and feet. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. Who by the fire side stands, stamps his feet and sings, but he who blows his hands not so gay a carol brings. Let us by the fire, ever higher, sing them till the night expire. And a Christmas Carol by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. What means this glory round our feet, the magi mused, more bright than mourn, and voices chanted clear and sweet, today the prince of peace is born? What means that star, the shepherd said, that brightens through the rocky glen? And angels, answering overhead, sang, Peace on earth, goodwill to men. Tis 1800 years and more since those sweet oracles were dumb, we wait for him, like them of yore, alas, he seems so slow to come. But it was said in words of gold, No time or sorrow ere shall dim, that little children might be bold in perfect trust to come to him. All round our feet shall shine a light like that the wise men saw, if we, our loveling wills, incline to that sweet life, which is the law. So shall we learn to understand the simple faith of shepherds then, and, clasping kindly, hand in hand, sing, Peace on earth, goodwill to men. But they who do their souls no wrong, but keep at eve the faith of mourn, shall daily hear the angel song, Today the prince of peace is born. And A Christmas Carol by James Russell Lowell Good news from heaven the angels bring glad tidings to the earth they sing, To us this day a child is given to crown us with the joy of heaven. This is the Christ our God and Lord, who in all need shall aid afford, he will himself our Savior be, from sin and sorrow set us free. To us that blessedness he brings, which from the Father's bounty springs, that in the heavenly realm we may with him enjoy eternal day. All hail, thou noble guest this mourn, whose love did not the sinner scorn. In my distress thou camest to me. What thanks shall I return to thee? Were earth a thousand times as fair, beset with gold and jewels rare? She yet were far too poor to be a narrow cradle, Lord, for thee. A dearest Jesus, holy child, make thee a bed, soft, undefiled, within my heart, that it may be a quiet chamber kept for thee. Praise God upon his heavenly throne, who gave to us his only Son, for this his hosts on joyful wing a blessed new year of mercy sing. End. A Christmas Carol for Children by Martin Luther. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Carol from the Neapolitan. When Christ was born in Bethlehem, to his night but seemed to the noon of day, the stars whose light was pure and bright, shone with unwavering ray, but one, one glorious star, guided the eastern magi from afar. Then peace was spread throughout the land, the lion fed beside the tender lamb, and with the kid, to pasture-led, the spotted leopard fed. In peace the calf and bear, the wolf and lamb, reposed together there. As shepherds watched their flocks by night, an angel brighter than the sun's own light appeared in air, and gently said, Fear not, be not afraid. For low beneath your eyes, earth has become a smiling paradise. End. Christmas Carol from the Neapolitan. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Carol from the Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. I care not for spring. On his fickle wing let the blossoms and buds be borne. He woos them amane with his treacherous rain, and he scatters them ere the morn. An inconsistent elf he knows not himself, or his own changing mind an hour. He'll smile in your face and with rye grimace he'll wither your youngest flower. Let the summer sun to his bright home run. He shall never be sought by me. When he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud, and care not how sulky he be. For his darling child is the madness wild that sports a fierce fever's train. And when love is too strong it don't last long, and many have found to their pain. A mild harvest night by the tranquil light of the modest and gentle moon has a far sweeter sheen for me, I wean, than the broad and unblushing noon. But every leaf awakens my grief as it lieth beneath the tree. So let autumn air beat never so fair it by no means agrees with me. But my song I troll out for Christmas stout, the hearty, the true, and the bold. A bumper I drain, and with might and main give three cheers for this Christmas old. We'll usher him in with a merry din that shall gladden his joyful heart, and will keep him up while there's bite or sup, and in fellowship good will part. In his fine honest pride he scorns to hide one jot of his hard-weather scars. There's no disgrace, for there's much the same trace on the cheeks of our bravest tar's. Then again I sing till the roof-doth ring, and it echoes from wall to wall. To the stout old white fair welcome to-night as the king of the seasons all. End A Christmas Carol from the Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. The Christmas Fires by Ann P. L. Field. The Christmas fires brightly gleam and dance among the holly-bows. The Christmas pudding's spicy steam with fragrance fills the house, while merry grows each friendly soul over the foaming wasale bowl. Resplendent stands the glittering tree, weighted with gifts for old and young. The children's faces shine with glee, and joyous is each tongue, while lads and lassies come and go under the festive mistletoe. When suddenly the frosty air is filled with music, voices sweet, lo, see the Christmas weights are there, snow-crowned and bare of feet. Yet high and clear there are voices ring, and glad there Christmas caroling. End The Christmas Fires This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Hymn. Words Anonymous. In fields where long ago dropping tears amid the leaves, Ruth's young feet went to and fro, binding up the scattered sheaves in the field that heard the voice of Judea's shepherd king. Still the gleaners may rejoice, still the reapers shout and sing. For each mount and veil and plain felt the touch of holier feet. Then the gleaners of the grain heard in voices full and sweet, peace on earth, goodwill to men. Ring from angels' lips afar, while or every glade and glen broke the light of Bethlehem's star. Star of hope to souls in night, star of peace above our strife, guiding where the gates of death ope to fields of endless life. Wanderer from the nightly throng which the eastern heaven's gem guided by an angel's song to the babe of Bethlehem. Not Judea's hills alone have earth's weary gleaners trod, not to heirs of David's throne is it given to reign with God. But where error on his green earth heavenly faith and longing are, heavenly hope and life have birth, neath the smile of Bethlehem's star. In each lowly heart or home by each love-watched cradle bed, where we rest or where we roam, still its changeless light is shed. In its beams each quickened heart, however saddened or denied, keeps one little place apart for the Hebrew mother's child. And that inner temple fair may be holier ground than this, hallowed by the pilgrim's prayer, warmed by many a pilgrim's kiss. In its shadow, still and dim, where our holiest longings are, rings forever Bethlehem's hymn, shines forever Bethlehem's star. And a Christmas hymn. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Hymn by Alfred Domet. It was the calm and silent night. Seven hundred years and fifty-three had Rome been growing up to might, and now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars. Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain. Apollo, Paulus, Joven, Mars held undisturbed their ancient reign. In the solemn midnight, centuries ago. It was in the calm and silent night. The senator of haughty Rome in patient urged his chariots flight from the lordly revel rolling home. Triumphal arches gleaming swell his breast with thoughts of boundless sway. What wrecked the Roman? What befell a paltry province far away in the solemn midnight, centuries ago? Within that province far away went plotting home a weary bore, a streak of light before him lay, falling through a half-shut stable door across his path. He passed, for not told what was going on within. How keen the stars his only thought, the air held calm and cold and thin in the solemn midnight, centuries ago. Oh, strange indifference, low and high, drowsed over common joys and cares. The earth was still, but knew not why. The world was listening. Unaware's. How calm a moment may precede one that shall thrill the world forever. To that still moment none would heed. Man's doom was linked no more to sever. In the solemn midnight, centuries ago. It is the calm and silent night. A thousand bells ring out and throw their joyous peals abroad and smite the darkness, charmed and holy now. The night that erst no name had worn, to it a happy name is given. For in that stable day, newborn, the peaceful prints of earth and heaven. In the solemn midnight, centuries ago. And a Christmas hymn. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas hymn by Richard Watson Gilder. Tell me what is this innumerable throng singing in the heavens a loud angelic song? These are they who come with swift and shining feet from round the throne of God, the Lord of Light, to greet. Oh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky? As if with joyful tidings that through the air shall fly? The faithful shepherds these, who greatly were affeared when, as they watched their flocks by night, the heavenly host appeared. Who are these that follow across the hills of Light, a star that westward hurries along the fields of Light? Three wise men from the East, Humor and Treasure, bring to lay them at the feet of Him, their Lord, and Christ, and King. What babe newborn is this that in a manger cries, near on her lowly bed, his happy mother lies? O see, the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings. This is the Lord of all the earth. This is the King of kings. And a Christmas hymn. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Insurrection. By Anne P. L. Field. In the hush of a silvery Christmas-tide dawn, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Three small frozen figures hung stiff and forlorn, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Three dim ghostly forms in the glittering gray, locked up in dark cold storage quarters were they, awaiting the coming of glad Christmas day, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Suspended each one from a hickory twig, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. A turkey, a goose, and a little fat pig, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. With chestnuts the turkey was garnished and stuffed, with onions and sage was the goose carcass puffed, while piggy was spiced and his neck was bereft, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Three spirits regretful were hovering near, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Look, gobbled the turkeys, what tragedy here, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. For this did they tempt me with fattening food, for this did I bring up my beautiful brood, I always thought farmers uncommonly rude, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. The goose spirit trembled and hissingly said, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Most men care for nothing, except to be fed, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. What horror is this, filled with onions and sage, to be served on a platter at my tender age? Is enough any well-disposed fowl to enrage? Sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. The phantom pig grunted, do please look at that, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Oh, why did I grow up so rosy and fat? Sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. They put in my mouth a sweet juicy corn cob, just wind of sensations my palate they rob. Do you wonder such sights make a spirit pig sob? Sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Conferring, the spirits resolved on a plan, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. By which two wrecked vengeance on merciless men, sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. Will each disagree with the human inside, will cause indigestion and damage his pride, and the pains of this Christmas will spread far and wide. Sing-hey, sing-ho, hy-ho. And a Christmas insurrection. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson. A Christmas Letter from Australia by Douglas Slayton. Tis Christmas and the North Wind Blows. It was two years yesterday, since from the Lusitania's boughs I looked over Table Bay, a tripper round the narrow world, a pilgrim of the main, expecting when her sails unfurled to start for home again. Tis Christmas and the North Wind Blows. Today our hearts are one, though you are amid the English snows and I the austral sun. You, when you hear the northern blast pile high a mightier fire, our ladies cower till its past in lawn and lace attire. I fancy I can picture you upon this Christmas night, just sitting as you used to do, the laughter at its height, and then a sudden silent pause intruding on your glee, and kind eyes glistening because you chanced to think of me. This morning when I woke and knew it was Christmas come again, I almost fancied I could view white rhyme upon the pain, and hear the ringing of the wheels upon the frosty ground, and see the drip that downward steals in icy casket bound. I dare say you'll be on the lake or sliding on snow, and breathing on your hands to make the circulation flow, nestling your nose among the furs of which your bow is made. The Fahrenheit here registers a hundred in the shade. It's not quite a Christmas here with this unclouded sky, this pure transparent atmosphere, this sun mid-heaven high, to see the rose upon the bush, young leaves upon the trees, and hear the forests summer hush, or the low hum of bees. But cold winds bring not Christmas tide, nor budding roses June, and when its night upon your side were basking in the noon, kind hearts make Christmas, June can bring blue sky or clouds above. The only universal spring is that which comes of love, and so it's Christmas in the south as on the North Sea coasts, though we are starved with summer drought in you with winter frosts, and we shall have our roast beef here and think of you the while, though all the watery hemisphere cuts off the mother isle. Feel sure that we shall think of you, we who have wandered forth, and many a million thoughts will go today from south to north. Old heads will muse on churches old, where bells will ring today, the very bells perchance which told their fathers to the clay. And now, good night, and I shall dream that I am with you all, watching the rooty embers gleam a thwart the paneled hall, nor care I if I dream or not, though severed by the foam, my heart is always in the spot, my heart is always in the spot, which was my childhood's home. And a Christmas Letter from Australia This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain, for more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson A Christmas Lullaby by John Addington Simons Sleep, baby, sleep The mother sings Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings Sleep, baby, sleep With swatches of scintid hay thy bed By Mary's hand at Eve was spread Sleep, baby, sleep At midnight came the shepherds, They whom seraphs wakened by the way Sleep, baby, sleep And three kings from the east far, Air dawn came, guided by the star Sleep, baby, sleep They brought the gifts of gold and gems Pure Orient pearls, rich diadems Sleep, baby, sleep Thou who liest slumbering there Art king of kings, earth, ocean, air Sleep, baby, sleep Sleep, baby, sleep The shepherds sing through heaven, through earth, Hosanna's ring Sleep, baby, sleep And a Christmas lullaby This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson A Christmas Song by William Cox Bennett Blow, wind, blow Sing through the yard and shroud Pipe it shrilly and loud A loft as well as below Sing in my sailor's ear The song I sing to you Come home, my sailor, true For Christmas that comes so near Go, wind, go Hurry this homebound sail Through gusts that are edged with hail Through winter and sleet and snow Song in my sailor's ear Your shrelling and moans shall be For he knows they sing him to me And Christmas that comes so near And a Christmas song This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson A Christmas Song by Tudor Jencks When mother love makes all things bright When joy comes with the morning light When children gather round their tree Thou Christmas babe we think of thee When manhoods browse are bent in thought To learn what men of old have taught When eager hands seek wisdom's key Wise temple child we learn of thee When doubts assail and perils fright When, roping blindly in the night We strive to read life's mystery Man of the mount we turn to thee When shadows of the valley fall When sin and death the soul appall One light we through the darkness see Christ on the cross we cry to thee And when the world shall pass away And dawns at length the perfect day In glory shall our souls made free Thou God enthroned then worshiped Thee And A Christmas Song This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Doug Anderson A Disputation Between Christ and the Human Form By Lawrence Hausman Come thou peaceably, O Lord Yea, I am peace, but not so fearful To afford thy maker room, for I am the reward To which all generations of increase Looking did never cease Down from amid dark wings of storm I set my feet to earth Will not my earth grow warm To feel her maker take the form he made When now creation's purpose meet Man's body is to be God's mercy seat Lord, I am foul There is no whole fair part in me Where thou canst deign to be This form is not thy making Since it stole fruit from the bitter tree Yet still thou hast the griefs To give in toil that I may test The sickness of man's soul O Lord, my work is without worth I am afraid lest I should man the blissful earth Quote Christ Air seas had shores or earth foundations laid My cross was made Not canst thou do that Was not willed by love to be To bring the work to pass through me No knee stiffens or bends before my sovereignty But from the world's beginning hath fulfilled Its choice betwixt the valley and the hill For both, at one decree, my blood was spilled Yet canst thou use these sin-stained hands These hands, quote Christ, of them I make my need Since they suffice to forge the bands Wherein I hunger they shall sow the seed And with bread daily they shall feed my flesh till Bottom bound it stands a sacrifice to bleed Lord, let this house be swept and garnished first For fear lest sin do there look in Let me shut fast the windows lest thou thirst Make some pure inner well of water's burst For no sweet water can man's delving wind Earth is so cursed Also bar up the door Thou wilt do well to dwell whilst in us Anchorite in thy cell Christ said, Let be, leave wide all ports to grief Here, when I knock, I will not be denied The common lot of all that here abide Were I so blinded, I were blind in chief How should I see to bring the blind relief Wilt thou so make thy dwelling? Then I fear man after this shall dread to enter here For all the inner courts will be so bright He shall be dazzled with excess of light And turn and flee But from his birth I will array him right And lay the temple open for his sight And say to help him as I bid him see This is for thee And a disputation between Christ and the human form This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson From Heaven Above to Earth I Come By Martin Luther Translation by Catherine Winkworth From Heaven Above to Earth I come to bear good news To every home Glad tidings of great joy I bring whereof I now will say and sing To you this night is born a child of Mary Chosen mother mild This little child of lowly birth Shall be the joy of all your earth Tis Christ our God who far on high hath heard your sad and bitter cry Himself will your salvation be Himself from soon will make you free He brings those blessings long ago prepared by God for all below Henceforth his kingdom open stands to you as to the angel bands These are the tokens ye shall mark The swaddling clothes and manger dark There shall ye find a young child laid By whom the heavens and earth were made Now let us all with glad sum cheer follow the shepherds And draw near to see this wondrous gift of God Who hath his only son bestowed Give heed my heart lift up thine eyes Who is it in young manger lies Who is this child so young and fair The blessed Christ child lieth there Welcome to earth thou noble guest Through whom ene wicked men are blessed Thou comest to share our misery What can we render, Lord, to thee Ah, Lord, who hast created all How hast thou made the weak and small That thou must choose thy infant bed Where ass and ox but lately fed Were earth a thousand times as fair Beset with gold and jewels rare She yet were far too poor to be A narrow cradle, Lord, for thee For velvet's soft and silken stuff Thou hast but hay and straw so rough Whereon thou king so rich and great As to where thy heaven aren't thrown in state Thus hath it pleased thee to make plain The truth to us poor fools in vain That this world's honor, wealth and might Are not and worthless in thy sight Ah, dearest Jesus, holy child Make thee a bed soft and defiled Within my heart that it may be A quiet chamber kept for thee My heart for varied joy doth leap My lips no more can silence keep I too must sing with joyful tongue That sweetest ancient cradle song Glory to God in highest heaven Who unto men his Son hath given While angels sing with pious smirth A glad new year to all the earth And from heaven above to earth I come By Martin Luther Translation by Catherine Winkworth This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson He came in also still by Anonymous He came also still where his mother was As do in April that falleth on the grass He came also still where his mother lay As do in April that falleth on the spray He came also still to his mother's bower As do in April that falleth on the flower Mother and maiden was never none but she Well might such lady God's mother be And he came also still This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson The Holy Night by Elizabeth Barrett Browning We sat among the stalls at Bethlehem The dumb kind from their fodder turning them Soften their horned faces to almost human gazes toward the newly born The simple shepherds from the starlit brooks brought visionary looks As yet in their astonied hearing rung the strange sweet angel tongue The magi of the east in sandals worn Nulled reverent sweeping round with long pale beards Their gifts upon the ground, the incense, myrrh, and gold These baby hands were impotent to hold So let all earthlies and celestials wait upon by royal state Sleep, sleep, my kingly one And the Holy Night This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson The Little Gray Lamb by Archibald Beresford Sullivan Out on the endless purple hills deep in the clasp of somber night The shepherds guarded their weary ones Guarded their flocks of cloudy white That like a snowdrift in silence lay Save one little lamb with its fleece of gray Out on the hillside all alone, gazing afar with sleepless eyes The Little Gray Lamb prayed soft and low Its weary face to the starry skies O moon of the heavens so fair, so bright Give me, oh give me, a fleece of white No answer came from the dome of blue Nor comfort lurked in the cypress trees But faint came a whisper borne along the scented wings of the passing breeze Little Gray Lamb that praised this night I cannot give thee a fleece of white Then the Little Gray Lamb of the sleepless eyes Prayed to the clouds for a coat of snow Asked of the roses, besought the woods But each gave answer sad and low Little Gray Lamb that praised this night We cannot give thee a fleece of white Like a gem unlocked from a casket dark Like an ocean pearl from its bed of blue Came softly stealing the clouds between A wonderful star which brighter grew until it Flamed like the sun by day Over the place where Jesus lay Air hushed where the angels' notes of praise The joyful shepherds had quickly sped Past rock and shadow down the hill to kneel At the saviour's lowly bed While, like the spirits of phantom night, Followed the flocks, their flocks of white And patiently, longingly, out of the night Apart from the others, far apart, came limping and sorrowful All alone, the Little Gray Lamb of the weary heart Murmuring, I must bide far away I am not worthy, my fleece is gray And the Christ child looked upon humble to pride A king's bent low on the earthen floor But gazed beyond at the saddened heart of the Little Gray Lamb At the open door And he called it up to his manger low And laid his hand on its wrinkled face While the king's grew golden robes aside To give the little weary one a place And the fleece of the Little Gray Lamb was blessed For, lo, it was whiter than all the rest In many cathedrals grand and dim Whose windows glimmer with pain and lens Mid the odor of incense raised in prayer Hallowed about with last-day men's The infant savior is pictured fair With kneeling, magi, wise and old But his baby hand rests not on the gifts The myrrh, the frankincense, the gold But on the head, with the heavenly light Of the Little Gray Lamb that was changed to white And the Little Gray Lamb Tidings of our holy Savior's birth So we keep the olden greeting with its meaning Deep and true, and wish a merry Christmas And a happy new year to you Oh yes, a merry Christmas with blithest song and smile Bright with the thought of him who dwelt on earth A little while, that we might dwell forever Where never falls a tear, and so a merry Christmas To you and a happy, happy new year And a merry Christmas An offertory by Mary Mates Dodge Read for LibriVox.org by Doug Anderson Oh, the beauty of the Christ child The gentleness, the grace The smiling, loving tenderness The infantile embrace All babyhood he holdeth All motherhood enfoldeth Yet who has seen his face Oh, the nearness of the Christ child When, for a sacred space, he nestles in our very homes Light of the human race We know him, and we love him No man to us need prove him Yet who has seen his face End of poem This recording is in the public domain This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson The Peaceful Night by John Milton But peaceful was the night wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began The winds with wonder whisked smoothly the waters kissed Whispering new joys to the mild ocean Who now hath quite forgot to rave While birds of calm sat brooding on the charmed 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 that often warned them fence But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake and bid them go And though the shady gloom has given day her room The sun himself withheld his wanted speed And hid his head for shame As his inferior flame the new enlightened world No more should need He saw the greater sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear And The Peaceful Night A Prayer at Bethlehem By Anne P. L. Field Read for LibriVox.org by Doug Anderson O pulsing earth with heart a thrill With infinite creative will O watchful shepherds in whose eyes Sweet hopes and promises arise O angel host whose chanting choir Proclaims fulfillment of desire O flaming star so purely white Against the black Judean night O blessed Mary bending low With sense of motherhood aglow O holy babe with hallowed head Soft pillowed in a manger bed O mystery divine and deep Help us thy prophecies to keep End of poem This recording is in the public domain Regrets by William Wordsworth Read for LibriVox.org by Doug Anderson Would that our scrupulous sires Had dared to leave less scanty measure Of those graceful rites and usages Whose due return invites a stir Of mind too natural to deceive Giving to memory help When she would weave a crown for hope I dread the boasted lights That all too often orbit fiery blights Killing the bud or which in vain we grieve Go seek when Christmas knows discomfort bring The counter-spirit found in some gray church Green with fresh holly every pew A perch in which the linnet or the thrush might sing Mary and loud and safe from prying search Strings offered only to the genial spring End of poem This recording is in the public domain This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson The Song of a Shepherd Boy at Bethlehem By Josephine Preston Peabody Sleep, thou little child of Mary Rest thee now Though these hands be rough from shearing and the plow Yet they shall not ever fail thee When the waiting nations hail thee Bringing palms unto their king Now I sing Sleep, thou little child of Mary, hope divine If thou wilt but smile upon me I will twine blossoms for thy garlanding Thou art so little to be king God's desire Not a breer shall be left to grieve thy brow Rest thee now Sleep, thou little child of Mary Some fair day wilt thou, as thou were to brother Come away over hills and over hollow All the lambs will up and follow Follow but for love of thee Loves thou me Sleep, thou little child of Mary Rest thee now I that watch him come from sheepstead and from plow Thou wilt have disdain of me when thou art lifted Boyly, very high for all to see Smile as thou And The Song of a Shepherd Boy at Bethlehem This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson The Star Bearer by Edmund Clarence Steadman There were seven angels Earth that spanned Heaven's roadway out through space Lighting with stars by God's command The fringe of that high place Went's plumbed beings in their joy The servitors, his thoughts employ, fly ceaselessly No goodlier band looked upward to his face There on bright hovering wings that tire never They rested mute, nor of far journeys Had desired nor of the deathless fruit For in and through each angel's soul All waves of life and knowledge roll Even as to nadir streamed The fire of their torches resolute They lighted Michael's outpost Through where fly the armored brood And the wintery earth their omens knew Of spring's beatitude Rude folk, ere yet the promise came Gave to their orbs a heathen name Saying how steadfast in men's view The watchful pliades stood All in the solstice of the year When the sun apace must turn The seven bright angels Gant to hear heaven's twin gates outward yearn Forth with its light and minstrelia Lordly troop came speeding by And joy'd to see each crescent sphere So gloriously burn Staying his fearless passage then The captain of that host spake with strong voice We bear to men God's gift the uttermost Whereof the oracle and signs, Sybil and sages may divine A star shall blazin' in their ken Born with us from your post This night the air of heaven's throne A new born mortal lies Since earth's first morning hath not shown Such joy in seraph's eyes He spake The least in honor there answered With longing like a prayer My star, albeit fence forth unknown Shall light for you earth's skies Onward the blessed legion swept that angel at the head Where seven of old their station kept There are six that shine instead Straight hitherward came troop and star Like some celestial bird afar And to earth's night the cohort Left with beauteous wings outspread Dazzling the east beneath it there The star gave out its rays Right through the still Judean air The shepherds see it blaze They see the plume born heavenly throng And hear a burst of that high song Of which in paradise aware saints count their years But days For they sang such music as I deem In God's chief court of joys Had stayed the flow of the crystal stream And made souls in mid-flight poise They sang of glory to him most high Of peace on earth abidingly And all such delights the witch men dream Nor sin nor grief alloys Breathless the kneeling shepherds heard Charmed from the first rude fear Nor while that music dwelt had stirred Were it a month or year And merry mother drank its flow Couched with her babe divine And low air falls the last ecstatic word Three holy kings draw near When as the star led shining train Wheeled from their task complete Skyward from over Bethlehem's plain They sped with rapture fleet And the angel of that orient star Fence forth where heaven's lordliest star Stands with a harp while Christ doth reign A seraph near his feet End of the Star Bearer This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Doug Anderson Trist Noel By Louise Imogen Gurney The ox he openedeth wide the door And from the snow he calls her in And he hath seen her smile Therefore our lady without sin Now soon from sleep a star shall leap And soon arrive both king and hind Amen, amen, but oh the place Code, I but find The ox hath hushed his voice And bent true eyes of pity or the moe And on his lovely neck for spent The blessed lays her brow Around her feet full warm and sweet His bowerly breath doth meekly dwell Amen, amen, but soar am I with thine travel The ox is host in Judas' stall Of host of more than only one For close she gathereth with all our lord her little son Glad hind and king their gift may bring But woe to night my tears were there Amen, amen, between her bosom and his hair And Trist Noel A visit from St. Nicholas By Clement Clark Moore Read for LibriVox.org by Doug Anderson It was the night before Christmas when all threw the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse The stockings were hung by the chimney with care In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there The children were nestled all snug in their beds While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads And mama in her kerchief and I in my cap Had just settled down for a long winter's nap When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter Away to the window I flew like a flash Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow Give the luster of midday to objects below When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and a tiny reindeer With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick More rapid than eagles his coarsers they came And he whistled and shouted and called them by name Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen On Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall Now Dash away, Dash away, Dash away all As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly When they met with an obstacle mount to the sky So up to the housetop the coarsers they flew With a sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pying of each little hoof As I drew in my hand and was turning around Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot A bundle of toys he had flung on his back And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed like a ball full of jelly He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread He spoke not a word but went straight to his work And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk And laying his finger aside of his nose And giving a nod up the chimney he rose He sprained to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle And away they all flew like the down of a thistle But I heard him exclaim, air he drove out of sight Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night End of poem This recording is in the public domain