Poems by Hartley Coleridge :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now the day of joy is come,
Let's be joyful all and some;
We were waked to life
By the thrilling fife,
And the dub-a-dub of the rumbling drum.
Through the twists and the turns of the winding horn
The news is loud sounded—The Mighty is born!
The Mighty to conquer—the Mighty to save!
Here 's a health to all friends on the land or the wave!

But she that bare Him, where was she
At this bright time of jollity?
Virgin mother—Virgin bride,
With her Baby by her side;
There she lies on musty straw,
In crazy stall, by many a flaw
Of many a winter, drill'd and holed,
Weak, and comfortless, and cold;

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With no sister, and no mother,
Aunt, or female friend, to soothe her.

Only he, ordain'd to wed,
And never take her to his bed,
Yet her husband and defender,
Watches nigh to cheer and tend her.
Mary—mother undefiled,
She smiles and weeps on her mysterious Child.
Not of her unheard, I guess,
When her mother's pains were blending
With the mother's blessedness,
Hymns of angels, low descending,
Through the abysmal depth of sky—
Peace be to men on earth, glory to God on high.
She lifted up her thankful eyes,
Yet all her thanks were sobs and sighs;
And ever with a pensive grace
She gazes on her Baby's face;
And ever and anon she sighs,
And weeps awhile, and then she prays,
And looks upon her Babe with downcast gaze,
As if she knew the wee thing by her side
Must be despised, and spit upon, and crucified!

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Watching shepherds have had warning
Of the sweet and gracious morning;
They leave their lambs upon the sod,
And come to see the Lamb of God.
The Baby smiles—He cannot speak,
For He is as mute and weak
As any other son of man;—
He smiles, and that is all He can.
But, lowly shepherds, unto you 'tis given
To see what God did ne'er before disclose,
A wonder to the sagest thrones in Heaven—
Your Lord Himself, disguised in swaddling clothes.
What angels could not guess before 'twas done—
The secret lies asleep with that sweet little one.
Lowly shepherds, haste away,
Ye have done whate'er ye could;
Ye can only praise and pray,
Seek your flocks beside the wood;—
Beside the wood, and on the glimmering plain:
Lord grant ye have not seen your Lord in vain!

And now the Babe sits upright on her knee.
Calm is the mother, as a humble soul

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Is ever calm when it receives a dole
Of grace, that makes it more devout and free.
But there has been a star,
That hath summon'd from afar,
Even from the farthest East, from burning realms,
Which oft the sandy tempest overwhelms;
From tribes that haply have survived the wreck
Of ancient knowledge, whom Melchisedech
Led eastward ever towards the Sun's nativity,
Up steep Himaus' height and sharp declivity,
Three venerable men,
Most reverend all, as aged men should be;
But who they were abides beyond the ken
Of Time-defeating History.
Three men there were, with frankincense and myrrh,
Knelt before Mary and entreated her,
For her sweet Infant's sake—for all
That he might be, and men might holy call,
To take their gifts of frankincense and gold.
The maiden smiled, the Baby smiled likewise;
Yet there was something in his mien and eyes,
That said—I take it as the gift of love:
Ye seek to please an infant with a toy.
So go your ways. Back to your spicy groves;
But Christ is not, for aye, a baby boy:

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I do not love your incense or your gold,
Like the sweet welcome from the shepherds' fold.

But since that maiden mother, meek,
Within a little, little week,
Such strange adventures had to bear,
So fearful strange,—she did not dare
To ask of God, or her own heart
What holy truth they might impart:
And since the tears were still in Mary's eyes
Till her blest Son received her in the skies,—
Let not the hearts, whose sorrow cannot call
This Christmas merry, slight the festival:
Let us be merry that may merry be,
But let us not forget that many mourn;
The smiling Baby came to give us glee,
But for the weepers was the Saviour born.