The Hands That First Held Mary's Child/Thomas Troeger

SOURCE 
FOR - Readings

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The hands that first held Mary’s child were hard from working wood.

From boards they sawed and planed and filed

and splinters they withstood.

This day they gripped no tool of steel, they drove no iron nail,

but cradled from the head to heel

our Lord, newborn and frail.

When Joseph marveled at the size of that small breathing frame,

and gazed upon those bright new eyes

and spoke the infant’s name,

the angel’s words he once had dreamed poured down from heaven’s height,

and like the host of stars that beamed

blessed earth with welcome light.

“This child shall be Emmanuel, not God upon the throne,

but God with us, Emmanuel, as close as blood and bone.”

The tiny form in Joseph’s palms confirmed what he had heard,

and from his heart rose hymns and psalms for heaven’s human word.

The tools that Joseph laid aside a mob would later lift

and use with anger, fear, and pride to crucify God’s gift.

Let us, O Lord, not only hold the child who’s born today,

but charged with faith may we be bold to follow in His way.

Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring / Robert Bridges

SOURCE

Jesu, joy of man's desiring,

Holy wisdom, love most bright;

Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring

Soar to uncreated light.

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,

With the fire of life impassioned,

Striving still to truth unknown,

Soaring, dying round Thy throne.

Through the way where hope is guiding,

Hark, what peaceful music rings;

Where the flock, in Thee confiding,

Drink of joy from deathless springs.

Theirs is beauty's fairest pleasure;

Theirs is wisdom's holiest treasure.

Thou dost ever lead Thine own

In the love of joys unknown.

Thou Who Wast Rich Beyond All Splendour / Frank Houghton

SOURCE

Thou who wast rich beyond all splendour,

All for love's sake becamest poor;

Thrones for a manger didst surrender,

Sapphire-paved courts for stable floor.

Thou who wast rich beyond all splendour,

All for love's sake becomes poor.

Thou who art God beyond all praising,

All for love's sake becamest man;

Stooping so low, but sinners raising

Heavenwards by thine eternal plan.

Thou who art God beyond all praising,

All for love's sake becamest man.

Thou who art love beyond all telling,

Saviour and King, we worship thee.

Emmanuel, within us dwelling,

Make us what thou wouldst have us be.

Thou who art love beyond all telling,

Saviour and King, we worship thee.

Come to This Christmas Singing! / Shirley Erena Murray

READ HERE

Child of Joy and Peace (Hunger Carol) / Shirley Erena Murray

READ HERE

Bring In Your New World / Shirley Erena Murray

READ HERE

Come, Immanuel / Godfrey Rust

SOURCE

Come, Immanuel, God with us to be.

Come down from paradise and occupy

this dirty stable of humanity.

Come and live rough, as we do: come and die.

Come and be lonely as an orphaned child.

Come to where grief is harvested and stored.

Come to where empty agèd minds run wild.

Come to the hospice and the cancer ward.

Come, flee from tyrants as a refugee.

Come, be betrayed by those you counted friends.

Come and be tortured with no amnesty.

Come as the means to justify all ends.

Come and be broken like a Christmas toy.

Come, be completely human—then we’ll know

your sorrow may bring hope of lasting joy

and God above is God with us below.

While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night / Margaret Deland

SOURCE

Like small curled feathers, white and soft,

    The little clouds went by,

Across the moon, and past the stars,

    And down the western sky:

In upland pastures, where the grass

    With frosted dew was white,

Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay,

    That first, best Christmas night.

The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,

    With twist of thin, blue smoke,

Only their fire's crackling flames

    The tender silence broke—

Save when a young lamb raised his head,

    Or, when the night wind blew,

A nesting bird would softly stir,

    Where dusky olives grew—

With finger on her solemn lip,

    Night hushed the shadowy earth,

And only stars and angels saw

    The little Saviour's birth;

Then came such flash of silver light

    Across the bending skies,

The wondering shepherds woke, and hid

    Their frightened, dazzled eyes!

And all their gentle sleepy flock

    Looked up, then slept again,

Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars

    Brought endless Peace to men—

Nor even heard the gracious words

    That down the ages ring—

The Christ is born! the Lord has come,

    Good-will on earth to bring!

Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields,

    Dumb with the world's great joy,

The shepherds sought the white-walled town,

    Where lay the baby boy—

And oh, the gladness of the world,

    The glory of the skies,

Because the longed-for Christ looked up

    In Mary's happy eyes!

The Peaceful Night / John Milton

SOURCE

But peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began.

The winds with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kist,

Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,--

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

The stars, with deep amaze,

Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence;

And will not take their flight,

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;

But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

And, though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

And hid his head for shame,

As his inferior flame

The new-enlightened world no more should need:

He saw a greater Sun appear

Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

On Shepherds' Pipes / William Drummond

SOURCE

O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!

Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise

Of which that golden age which clears the skies

Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!

And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,

Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies

That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight:

Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!

Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,

Though withered--blessed grass that hath the grace

To deck and be a carpet to that place!

Thus sang, unto the sounds, of oaten reed,

Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees;

And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.

Of The Epiphany / Sir John Beaumont

SOURCE

Fair eastern star, that art ordained to run

Before the sages, to the rising sun,

Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud

Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud:

Ye heavenly bodies glory to be bright

And are esteemed as ye are rich in light;

But here on earth is taught a different way,

Since under this low roof the Highest lay.

Jerusalem erects her stately towers,

Displays her windows and adorns her bowers:

Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark,

Let Herod's palace still continue dark;

Each school and syngogue thy force repels,

There Pride enthroned in misty error dwells;

The temple, where the priests maintain their quire,

Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire,

While this weak cottage all thy splendour takes:

A joyful gate of every chink it makes

Here shines no golden roof, no ivory stair,

No king exalted in a stately chair,

Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled,

But straw and hay enwrap a speechless child.

Yet Sabae's lords before this babe unfold

Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh and gold.

The crib becomes an altar: therefore dies

No ox nor sheep; for in their fodder lies

The Prince of Peace, who, thankful for his bed,

Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed:

The quintessence of earth he takes, and fees,

And precious gums distilled from weeping trees;

Rich metals and sweet odours now declare

The glorious blessings which his laws prepare,

To clear us from the base and loathsome flood

Of sense and make us fit for angels' food,

Who life to God for us the holy smoke

Of fervent prayers with which we him invoke,

And try our actions in the searching fire

By which the seraphims our lips inspire:

No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect,

We shall exhale our vapours up direct:

No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights deface

Perpetual sighs which seek a happy place.

The Lamb / William Blake

SOURCE

Little Lamb, who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee,

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed

By the stream and o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice?

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee;

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:

He is called by thy name,

For He calls Himself a Lamb

He is meek, and He is mild,

He became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb,

We are called by His name.

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Wartime Christmas / Joyce Kilmer

SOURCE

Led by a star, a golden star,

The youngest star, an olden star,

Here the kings and the shepherds are,

A kneeling on the ground.

What did they come to the inn to see?

God in the Highest, and this is He,

A baby asleep on His mother’s knee

And with her kisses crowned. 

Now is the earth a dreary place,

A troubled place, a weary place.

Peace has hidden her lovely face

And turned in tears away.

Yet the sun, through the war-cloud, sees

Babies asleep on their mother’s knees.

While there are love and home—and these—

There shall be Christmas Day.

Light In The Darkness / Norval Clyne

SOURCE

The blasts of chill December sound

    The farewell of the year,

And night's swift shadows gath'ring round

    O'er cloud the soul with fear;

But rest you well, good Christian men,

    Nor be of heart forlorn;

December's darkness begins again

    The Light of Christmas morn.

The welcome snow at Christmas-tyde

    Falls shining from the skies:

On village paths and uplands wide

    All holy-white it lies;

It crowns with pearl the oaks and pines,

    And glitters on the thorn,

And purer is the Light that shines

    On gladsome Christmas morn.

'Twas when the world was waxing old,

    And night on Bethlehem lay,

The shepherds saw the heavens unfold

    A light beyond the day;

Such glory ne'er had visited

    A world with sin outworn;

But yet more glorious Light is shed

    On happy Christmas morn.

Those shepherds poor, how blest were they

    The angels' song to hear!

In manger cradle as He lay,

    To greet their Lord so dear!

The Lord of Heaven's eternal height

    For us a Child was born:

And He, the very Light of Light,

    Shone forth that Christmas morn!

Before His Infant smile afar

    Were driven the hosts of hell;

And still in souls that childlike are

    His guardian Love shall dwell:

O then rejoice, good Christian men,

    Nor be of hear forlorn;

December's darkness bring again

    The Light of Christmas morn.

I Cannot Tell / William Young Fullerton

SOURCE

1. I cannot tell why He Whom angels worship,

Should set His love upon the sons of men,

Or why, as Shepherd, He should seek the wanderers,

To bring them back, they know not how or when.

But this I know, that He was born of Mary

When Bethlehem’s manger was His only home,

And that He lived at Nazareth and labored,

And so the Savior, Savior of the world is come.

2. I cannot tell how silently He suffered,

As with His peace He graced this place of tears,

Or how His heart upon the cross was broken,

The crown of pain to three and thirty years.

But this I know, He heals the brokenhearted,

And stays our sin, and calms our lurking fear,

And lifts the burden from the heavy laden,

For yet the Savior, Savior of the world is here.

3. I cannot tell how He will win the nations,

How He will claim His earthly heritage,

How satisfy the needs and aspirations

Of East and West, of sinner and of sage.

But this I know, all flesh shall see His glory,

And He shall reap the harvest He has sown,

And some glad day His sun shall shine in splendor

When He the Savior, Savior of the world is known.

4. I cannot tell how all the lands shall worship,

When, at His bidding, every storm is stilled,

Or who can say how great the jubilation

When all the hearts of men with love are filled.

But this I know, the skies will thrill with rapture,

And myriad, myriad human voices sing,

And earth to Heaven, and Heaven to earth, will answer:

At last the Savior, Savior of the world is King!

Hymn For The Nativity / Edward Thring

SOURCE

Happy night and happy silence downward softly stealing

    Softly stealing over land and sea,

Stars from golden censers swing a silent eager feeling

    Down on Judah, down on Galilee;

And all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,

Listened, listened for the gladness of a cry.

Holy, night, a sudden flash of light its way is winging:

    Angels, angels, all above, around;

Hark, the angel voices, hark, the angel voices singing;

    And the sheep are lying on the ground.

Lo, all the wistful air, and earth, and sky

Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.

Happy night at Bethlehem; soft little hands are feeling,

    Feeling in the manger with the kine:

Little hands, and eyelids closed in sleep, while angels kneeling,

    Mary, mother, hymn the Babe Divine.

Lo, all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,

Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.

Wide, as if the light were music, flashes adoration:

    Glory be to God, nor ever cease.

All the silence thrills, and speeds the message of salvation:

    Peace on earth, good-will to men of peace.

Lo, all the wistful air, and earth, and sky,

Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.

Holy night, thy solemn silence evermore enfoldeth

    Angel songs and peace from God on high:

Holy night, thy watcher still with faithful eye beholdeth

    Wings that wave, and angel glory nigh.

Lo, hushed is strife in air, and earth, and sky,

Still thy watchers hear the gladness of the cry.

Praise Him, ye who watch the night, the silent night of ages:

    Praise Him, shepherds, praise the Holy Child:

Praise Him, ye who hear the light, O praise Him, all ye sages;

    Praise Him children, praise Him meek and mild.

Lo, peace on Earth, glory to God on high,

Listen, listen to the gladness of the cry.

His Mother's Joy / John White Chadwick

SOURCE

LITTLE, I ween, did Mary guess,   

  As on her arm her baby lay,   

What tides of joy would swell and beat,   

  Through ages long, on Christmas day.

And what if she had known it all,—

  The awful splendor of his fame?   

The inmost heart of all her joy   

  Would still, methinks, have been the same:

The joy that every mother knows   

  Who feels her babe against her breast:

The voyage long is overpast,   

  And now is calm and peace and rest.

“Art thou the Christ?” The wonder came   

  As easy as her infant’s breath:   

But answer none. Enough for her,

  That love had triumphed over death.

Vom Himmel hoch da komm ich her (From Heaven above to earth I come) / Martin Luther, trans. Winkworth

SOURCE

From Heaven above to earth I come

To bear good news to every home;

Glad tidings of great joy I bring

Whereof I now will say and sing:

To you this night is born a child

Of Mary, chosen mother mild;

This little child, of lowly birth,

Shall be the joy of all your earth.

'Tis Christ our God who far on high

Hath heard your sad and bitter cry;

Himself will your Salvation be,

Himself from sin will make you free.

He brings those blessings, long ago

Prepared by God for all below;

Henceforth His kingdom open stands

To you, as to the angel bands.

These are the tokens ye shall mark,

The swaddling clothes and manger dark;

There shall ye find the young child laid,

By whom the heavens and earth were made.

Now let us all with gladsome cheer

Follow the shepherds, and draw near

To see this wondrous gift of God

Who hath His only Son bestowed.

Give heed, my heart, lift up thine eyes!

Who is it in yon manger lies?

Who is this child so young and fair?

The blessed Christ-child lieth there.

Welcome to earth, Thou noble guest,

Through whom e'en wicked men are blest!

Thou com'st to share our misery,

What can we render, Lord, to Thee!

Ah, Lord, who hast created all,

How hast Thou made Thee weak and small,

That Thou must choose Thy infant bed

Where ass and ox but lately fed!

Were earth a thousand times as fair,

Beset with gold and jewels rare,

She yet were far too poor to be

A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee.

For velvets soft and silken stuff

Thou hast but hay and straw so rough,

Whereon Thou King, so rich and great,

As 'twere Thy heaven, art throned in state.

Thus hath it pleased Thee to make plain

The truth to us poor fools and vain,

That this world's honour, wealth and might

Are nought and worthless in Thy sight.

Ah! dearest Jesus, Holy Child,

Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled,

Within my heart, that it may be

A quiet chamber kept for Thee.

My heart for very joy doth leap,

My lips no more can silence keep;

I too must sing with joyful tongue

That sweetest ancient cradle-song—

Glory to God in highest Heaven,

Who unto man His Son hath given!

While angels sing with pious mirth

A glad New Year to all the earth.

The Christmas Silence / Margaret Deland

SOURCE

Hushed are the pigeons cooing low

    On dusty rafters of the loft;

    And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,

Sleep on the fragrant hay below.

Dim shadows in the corner hide;

    The glimmering lantern's rays are shed

    Where one young lamb just lifts his head,

Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.

Strange silence tingles in the air;

    Through the half-open door a bar

    Of light from one low-hanging star

Touches a baby's radiant hair.

No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays

    Her cheek against the little face.

    Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!

'Tis yet in silence that she prays!

Ages of silence end to-night;

    Then to the long-expectant earth

    Glad angels come to greet His birth

In burst of music, love, and light!

Hymn by Timothy Dudley-Smith

SOURCE - Oremus
TEXT -

Had he not loved us
he had never come;
yet is he love
and love is all his way:
low to the mystery
of the Virgin's womb
Christ bows his glory--
born on Christmas Day.

Had he not loved us
he had never come;
had he not come
he need have never died,
nor won the victory
of the vacant tomb,
the awful triumph
of the Crucified.

Had he not loved us
he had never come;
still we were lost
in sorrow, sin and shame,
the doors fast shut
on our eternal home
which now stand open--
for he loved and came.