When there dawns a certain Star
Comes a Stranger into the city;
The feet of prayer his dear feet are,
His hands they are the hands of pity.
Every houseplace rich and poor
Shall show for welcome a sprig of green,
And every heart shall open its door
To let the Stranger enter in.
I will set my door ajar
That he may enter if he please;
The eyes of love his dear eyes are,
His brow it is the brow of peace.
Through the heart of every child
And man and woman in the city
He shall pass, and they be filled
With love and peace and prayer and pity.
by Eleanor Farjeon
This is the week when Christmas comes,
Let every pudding burst with plums,
And every tree bear dolls and drums,
In the week when Christmas comes.
Let every hall have boughs of green,
With berries glowing in between,
In the week when Christmas comes.
Let every doorstep have a song
Sounding the dark street along,
In the week when Christmas comes.
Let every steeple ring a bell
With a joyful tale to tell,
In the week when Christmas comes.
Let every night put forth a star
To show us where the heavens are,
In the week when Christmas comes.
Let every pen enfold a lamb
Sleeping warm beside its dam,
In the week when Christmas comes.
This is the week when Christmas comes.
by Eleanor Farjeon
How will you your Christmas keep?
Feasting, fasting, or asleep?
Will you laugh or will you pray,
Or will you forget the day?
Be it kept with joy or prayer,
Keep of either some to spare;
Whatsoever brings the day,
Do not keep but give away.
by Eleanor Farjeon
I carried a king,
But not the Child,
Through desert storms
And winds so wild
The sands crept into
Every pack.
But never did
My king look back.
'Forward!' he cried,
'We follow the star,
We do not stop.'
So here we are.
I carried a king,
But not the One,
Through searing heat
And blinding sun,
Through nights so cold
My nostrils froze,
And slaves wrapped cloths
About my toes.
But forward we went
Led by a star.
We did not stop,
So here we are.
I carried a king,
But not the Babe,
And also boxes
Jewel inlaid.
My packs were stuffed
With scents and spice,
The grandest ladies
To entice.
No ladies saw we,
But only a star.
We did not stop
So here we are.
by Jane Yolen
"I am tired of this barn!" said the colt.
"And every day it snows.
Outside there's no grass any more
And icicles grow on my nose.
I am tired of hearing the cows
Breathing and talking together.
I am sick of these clucking hens.
I hate stables and winter weather!"
"Hush, little colt," said the mare.
"And a story I will tell
Of a barn like this one of ours
And the wonders that there befell.
It was weather much like this,
And the beasts stood as we stand now
In the warm good dark of the barn --
A horse and an ass and a cow,"
"And sheep?" asked the colt. "Yes, sheep,
And a pig and a goat and a hen.
All of the beasts of the barnyard,
The usual servants of men.
And into their midst came a lady
And she was cold as death.
But the animals leaned above her
And made her warm with their breath.
"There was her baby born
And laid to sleep in the hay,
While music flooded the rafters
And the barn was as light as day.
And angels and kings and shepherds
Came to worship the babe from afar.
But we looked at him first of all creatures
By the bright strange light of a star."
by Elizabeth Coatsworth
Oh, who would be a shepherd boy
And mind a flock of sheep,
While other men and boys enjoy
A quiet night of sleep?
Yes, who would choose to pass the night
In darkness and in cold?
Or hear the cry without a fright:
'A wolf is in the fold'?
Now then there came a shining one,
An angel of the Lord;
With news of God's eternal son,
By angels now adored.
'The news,' said he, 'should make you glad,
And fill your hearts with joy:
You'll find him in a manger laid,
A mother's baby boy.'
The shepherds' hearts were comforted
By what was told to them.
'And after what we've heard,' they said,
'Let's go to Bethlehem.'
Traditional
'I,' said the donkey, all shaggy and brown,
'Carried his mother all into the town,
Carried her uphill, carried her down.
I,' said the donkey, all shaggy and brown.
'I,' said the cow, with spots of red,
'Gave him hay for to rest his head,
Gave a manger for his bed.
I,' said the cow, with spots of red.
'I,' said the sheep, with twisted horn,
'Gave my wool for to keep him warm,
Gave my coat on Christmas morn.
I,' said the sheep with twisted horn.
'I,' said the dove from the rafters high,
'Cooed him to sleep with a lullaby,
Cooed him to sleep my mate and I.
I,' said the dove from the rafters high.
Anonymous
Away in a manger,
No crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus
Laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the bright sky
Looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus
Asleep in the hay.
The cattle are lowing,
The baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus
No crying he makes.
I love you, Lord Jesus;
Look down from the sky
And stay by my bedside
Till morning is nigh.
Be near me, Lord Jesus,
I ask you to stay
Close by me forever,
And love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children
In your tender care.
And fit us for heaven,
To live with you there.
by Martin Luther
Come, see this little stranger
That lies all warm within;
His cradle is a manger,
His home a way-side inn;
Come, let us look within.
The breath of oxen warms him,
They watch this baby dear,
They see no chill shall harm him,
So long as they are near,
This little babe to cheer.
by J. Steuart Wilson
Winds through the olive trees
Softly did blow
Round little Bethlehem,
Long, long ago.
Sheep on the hillside lay
White as the snow,
Shepherds were watching them,
Long, long ago.
Then from the happy skies
Angels bent low,
Singing their songs of joy,
Long, long ago.
For in his manger bed
Cradled we know,
Christ came to Bethlehem,
Long, long ago.
Traditional Gascon
As Joseph was a-walking, he heard an angel sing,
'This night shall be born our heavenly king.
He neither shall be born in housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise, but in an ox's stall.
Noel, Noel.'
As Joseph was a-walking, he heard an angel sing,
'This night shall be born our heavenly king.
He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall,
But all in fair linen as wear babies all.
Noel, Noel.'
As Joseph was a-walking, he heard an angel sing,
'This night shall be born our heavenly king.
He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold,
But in a wooden cradle that rocks on the mould.
Noel, Noel.'
As Joseph was a-walking, he heard an angel sing,
'This night shall be born our heavenly king.
He neither shall be christened in white wine nor in red,
But in the fair spring water, as we were christen-ed.
Noel, Noel.'
Traditional
Little donkey, little donkey.
On the dusty road,
Got to keep on plodding onwards
With your precious load.
Been a long time, little donkey,
Through the winter's night.
Don't give up now, little donkey,
Bethlehem's in sight.
Ring out those bells tonight,
Bethlehem, Bethlehem.
Follow that star tonight,
Bethlehem, Bethlehem.
Little donkey, little donkey,
Had a heavy day,
Little donkey, carry Mary
Safely on her way.
Little donkey, carry Mary
Safely on her way.
by Eric Boswell
The angel Gabriel from heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame;
'All hail', said he, 'thou lowly maiden Mary,
Most highly favoured lady,
Gloria!
'For know a blessed mother thou shalt be,
All generations laud and honour thee,
Thy son shall be Emmanuel, by seers foretold.
Most highly favoured lady,
Gloria!'
Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head,
'To me be as it pleaseth God,' she said,
'My soul shall laud and magnify his holy name.'
Most highly favoured lady,
Gloria!
Of her, Emmanuel, the Christ, was born
In Bethlehem, all on a Christmas morn,
And Christian folk throughout the world will ever say,
'Most highly favoured lady,
Gloria!'
by S. Baring-Gould
