Deck the Blog: Part IX

Adoration of the Magi
Gentile Da Fabriano, 15th century

Deck the Blog: Part VIII

How far is it to Bethlehem?
Frances Chesterton

How far is it to Bethlehem?
Not very far.
Shall we find the stable room
Lit by a star?
Can we see the little child,
Is he within?
If we lift the wooden latch
May we go in?
May we stroke the creatures there,
Ox, ass, or sheep?
May we peep like them and see
Jesus asleep?
If we touch his tiny hand
Will he awake?
Will he know we've come so far
Just for his sake?
Great kings have precious gifts,
And we have naught,
Little smiles and little tears
Are all we brought.
For all weary children
Mary must weep.
Here, on his bed of straw
Sleep, children, sleep.
God in his mother's arms,
Babes in the byre,
Sleep, as they sleep who find
Their heart's desire.

Deck the Blog: Part VII

New Prince, New Pomp
Robert Southwell

Behold a silly tender Babe, in freezing winter night;
In homely manger trembling lies, alas a piteous sight:
The inns are full, no man will yield this little Pilgrim bed,
But forced He is with silly beasts, in crib to shroud His head.
Despise Him not for lying there, first what He is enquire:
An orient pearl is often found, in depth of dirty mire;
Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, nor beasts
that by Him feed:
Weigh not His mother’s poor attire, nor Joseph’s simple weed.
This stable is a Prince’s court, the crib His chair of state:
The beasts are parcel of His pomp, the wooden dish His plate.
The persons in that poor attire, His royal liveries wear,
The Prince Himself is come from heaven,
this pomp is prized there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight, do homage to thy King,
And highly prize this humble pomp,
which He from heaven doth bring.

Deck the Blog: Part VI

St Bridget & the Vision of the Nativity
Niccolo di Tommaso, 14th century

Deck the Blog: Part V

The Holy Night
Elizabeth Barret Browning

We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem;
The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,
Softened their horned faces
To almost human gazes
Toward the newly Born:
The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks
Brought their visionary looks,
As yet in their astonished hearing rung
The strange sweet angel-tongue:
The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
Knelt 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 thy royal state.
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

Just between you and me...

I just discovered another limitation of Blogger. You cannot queue blog posts for future posting dates. If you attempt it, your posts will post immediately, in fickle disregard for their posting date which, seemingly, might as well be designated B.C. for all the effect it would have on the post itself. So, as I don't expect to spending much before this glowing screen during the coming days of festivity, I am going to post all my "decorations" today and, if you don't mind, you can just ignore them until the appropriate day comes around. Much obliged...

Deck the Blog:Part IV

Nativity, Duccio di Buoninsegna, 14th century

Deck the Blog: Part III

The Burning Babe
Robert Southwell

AS I in hoary winter’s night
Stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat
Which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye
To view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright
Did in the air appear;
Who, scorchèd with excessive heat,
Such floods of tears did shed,
As though His floods should quench His flames,
Which with His tears were bred:
‘Alas ‘quoth He, ‘but newly born
In fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts
Or feel my fire but I!

‘My faultless breast the furnace is;
The fuel, wounding thorns;
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke;
The ashes, shames and scorns;
The fuel Justice layeth on,
And Mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought
Are men’s defilèd souls:
For which, as now on fire I am
To work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath,
To wash them in my blood.’
With this He vanish’d out of sight
And swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I callèd unto mind
That it was Christmas Day.

Cavalcade of Bad Nativities Part II

Too funny...laughed..so..hard...insides may never recover.

SEE FOR YOURSELF

(If you have never visited this site before, be sure to check out Part I from several years ago.)

Deck the Blog: Part II

Nativity
John Donne

Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves His well-belov'd imprisonment,
There He hath made Himself to His intent
Weak enough, now into the world to come;
But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room?
Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient,
Stars and wise men will travel to prevent
The effect of Herod's jealous general doom.
Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eyes, how He
Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?
Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,
With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.

Deck the Blog: Part I

I recently discovered a handful of really fine Advent/Christmas poetry. I have not been inspired to write much myself these past few weeks, so as we approach the most wonderful and glorious feast of the Incarnation, I've decided to use this blog space as a bulletin board to display my favorite seasonal reflections from poetry or song. I hope you enjoy...

A LITTLE LITANY
by G.K. Chesterton
When God turned back eternity and was young,
Ancient of Days, grown little for your mirth
(As under the low arch the land is bright)
Peered through you, gate of heaven--and saw the earth.

Or shutting out his shining skies awhile
Built you about him for a house of gold
To see in pictured walls his storied world
Return upon him as a tale is told.

Or found his mirror there; the only glass
That would not break with that unbearable light
Till in a corner of the high dark house
God looked on God, as ghosts meet in the night.

Star of his morning; that unfallen star
In that strange starry overturn of space
When earth and sky changed places for an hour
And heaven looked upwards in a human face.

Or young on your strong knees and lifted up
Wisdom cried out, whose voice is in the street,
And more than twilight of twiformed cherubim
Made of his throne indeed a mercy-seat.

Or risen from play at your pale raiment's hem
God, grown adventurous from all time's repose,
Or your tall body climed the ivory tower
And kissed upon your mouth the mystic rose.

*HAT TIP Blue Boar for introducing me to this delightful selection.