The Poems of Selwyn Image | ||
71
I BRING YOU TYDYNGS OF GLADNESSE, AS GABRYEL ME BERYTH WETNESSE
Tie up the scarlet holly with the green,
Triumphant laurel and pale mistletoe:
Bedeck the board with linen sweet and clean;
Heap high the crackling fire, shut out the snow:
Let willing hands the generous feast prepare,
Whilst many a brave song bars the door on care!
Triumphant laurel and pale mistletoe:
Bedeck the board with linen sweet and clean;
Heap high the crackling fire, shut out the snow:
Let willing hands the generous feast prepare,
Whilst many a brave song bars the door on care!
Ah! but forget not Him, That came this day,
And in a careless world scant welcome found:
The Kings of kings, round Whom no courtiers pay
Their eager homage, no majestic sound
Of royal music heralds His estate;
The God of gods, on Whom no glories wait!
And in a careless world scant welcome found:
The Kings of kings, round Whom no courtiers pay
Their eager homage, no majestic sound
Of royal music heralds His estate;
The God of gods, on Whom no glories wait!
Forget not Him: forget not that poor bed
Of rustling straw, the chill December air,
The lowing cattle huddled in their shed,
The flick'ring gleam on floor and rafter bare:
O God, O God, in how forlorn a plight
Our sins have set Thee this devoted night!
Of rustling straw, the chill December air,
The lowing cattle huddled in their shed,
The flick'ring gleam on floor and rafter bare:
O God, O God, in how forlorn a plight
Our sins have set Thee this devoted night!
Forlorn? Devoted? nay, Thou hast not willed
Here in Thy weakness we should sore bewail Thee:
With dance, and song, and bounteous homestead filled,
This natal hour more fitly may we hail Thee!
That men should grieve, our griefs Thou hast not borne:
Awake, give thanks, shout, World, for joy this morn!
Here in Thy weakness we should sore bewail Thee:
With dance, and song, and bounteous homestead filled,
This natal hour more fitly may we hail Thee!
That men should grieve, our griefs Thou hast not borne:
Awake, give thanks, shout, World, for joy this morn!
The Poems of Selwyn Image | ||