Hither, page, and stand by me If thou knowst it, telling Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling? Sire, he lives a good league hence Underneath the mountain Right against the forest fence By Saint Agnes fountain.
Bring me flesh and bring me wine Bring me pine logs hither Thou and I will see him dine When we bear him thither. Page and monarch forth they went Forth they went together Through the rude winds wild lament And the bitter weather
Sire, the night is darker now And the wind blows stronger Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer. Mark my footsteps, my good page Tread thou in them boldly Thou shalt find the winters rage Freeze thy blood less coldly.
In his masters steps he trod Where the snow lay dinted Heat was in the very sod Which the Saint had printed Therefore, Christian men, be sure Wealth or rank possessing Ye who now will bless the poor Shall yourselves find blessing
The shepherds went their hasty way, And found the lowly stable shed Where the Virgin Mother lay: And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, A Mothers song the Virgin Mother sung.
They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng. Around them shone, suspending night! While sweeter than a mothers song, Blest Angels heralded the Saviors birth, Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she pressed: And while she cried, the Babe is mine! The milk rushed faster to her breast: Joy rose within her, like a summers morn; Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate! That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate? Sweet Musics loudest note, the Poets story, Didst thou neer love to hear of fame and glory?
And is not War a youthful king, A stately Hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; Him Earths majestic monarchs hail Their friends, their playmate! and his bold bright eye Compels the maidens love confessing sigh.
Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state! I am a woman poor and mean, And wherefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged fathers tears his child!
A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his widows toil had won; Plunders Gods world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease: Im poor and of low estate, The Mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me, like a summers morn: Peace, Peace on Earth! The Prince of Peace is born!
And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Then from each black accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth stones of a continent, And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, good will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head; There is no peace on earth, I said; For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men!
And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had rolld, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honour to the holy night; On Christmas Eve the bells were rung; On Christmas Eve the mass was sung: That only night in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donnd her kirtle sheen; The hall was dressd with holly green; Forth to the wood did merry men go, To gather in the mistletoe. Then opend wide the Barons hall To vassal, tenant, serf and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside And Ceremony doffd his pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose; The Lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of post and pair. All haild, with uncontrolld delight, And general voice, the happy night, That to the cottage, as the crown, Brought tidings of salvation down.
The fire, with well dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall tables oaken face, Scrubbd till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue coated serving man; Then the grim boars head frownd on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green garbd ranger tell, How, when, and where, the monster fell; What dogs before his death to tore, And all the baiting of the boar. The wassel round, in good brown bowls, Garnishd with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reekd; hard by Plum porridge stood, and Christmas pie; Nor faild old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry makers in, And carols roard with blithesome din; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery; White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made; But, O! what maskers, richly dight, Can boast of bosoms half so light! England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. Twas Christmas broachd the mightiest ale; Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor mans heart through half the year.
I thought how yellow it would look When Richard went to mill; And then I wanted to get out, But something held my will.
I thought just how red apples wedged The stubbles joints between; And carts went stooping round the fields To take the pumpkins in.
I wondered which would miss me least, And when Thanksgiving came, If fatherd multiply the plates To make an even sum.
And if my stocking hung too high, Would it blur the Christmas glee, That not a Santa Claus could reach The altitude of me?
But this sort grieved myself, and so I thought how it would be When just this time, some perfect year, Themselves should come to me.
We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then.
So fair a fancy few would weave In these years! Yet, I feel, If someone said on Christmas Eve, Come; see the oxen kneel
In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know, I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so.
Turkeys just wanna play reggae Turkeys just wanna hip hop Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying, I cannot wait for de chop, Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV, Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain In many ways like yu an me.
I once knew a turkey called........ Turkey He said Benji explain to me please, Who put de turkey in christmas An what happens to christmas trees?, I said I am not too sure turkey But its nothing to do wid Christ Mass Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be An business men mek loadsa cash.
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas Invite dem indoors fe sum greens Let dem eat cake an let dem partake In a plate of organic grown beans, Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas An spare dem de cut of de knife, Join Turkeys United an deyll be delighted An yu will mek new friends FOR LIFE.