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God Rest You Merry Gentlemen
OLD CAROL God rest you, merry gentlemen, ...

The Philanthropist's Christmas
JAMES WEBER LINN "DID you see this committee yeste...

The Queerest Christmas
GRACE MARGARET GALLAHER BETTY stood at her door, g...

Christmas Bells
ANON There are sounds in the sky when the ye...

Christmas On Big Rattle
THEODORE GOODRIDGE ROBERTS ARCHER sat by the rude ...

The Glorious Song Of Old
EDMUND H. SEARS It came upon the midnight cl...

The Telltale Tile
OLIVE THORNE MILLER IT BEGINS with a bit of gossip...

An Ode On The Birth Of Our Saviour

ROBERT HERRICK

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, O Jesu!
Thou pretty baby, born here
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.

But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily work will dress thee,
And, as we dispossess thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.





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