A Christmas Carol ~ A Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)
I
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 Mother’s song the Virgin-Mother sung.
II
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng.
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother’s song,
Blest Angels heralded the Savior’s birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
III
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 summer’s morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
IV
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 Music’s loudest note, the Poet’s story,
Didst thou ne’er love to hear of fame and glory?
V
And is not War a youthful king,
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth’s majestic monarchs hail
Their friends, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden’s love-confessing sigh.
VI
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 father’s tears his child!
VII
A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow’s toil had won;
Plunders God’s world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
VIII
Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I’m poor and of low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer’s morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! The Prince of Peace is born!
Look there at the star! I, among the least, Will arise and take A journey to the East. But what shall I bring As a present for the King? What shall I bring to the Manger? I will bring a song, A song that I will sing, In the Manger. Watch out for my flocks, Do not let them stray. I am going on a journey Far, far away. But what shall I bring As a present for the Child? What shall I bring to the Manger? I will bring a lamb, Gentle, meek, and mild, A lamb for the Child In the Manger. I’m just a shepherd boy, Very poor I am—– But I know there is A King in Bethlehem. What shall I bring As a present just for Him? What shall I bring to the Manger? I will bring my heart And give my heart to Him. I will bring my heart To the Manger.
Merry Christmas (Published in 1930) ~
Merry Christmas, China From the gun-boats in the river, Ten-inch shells for Christmas gifts, And peace on earth forever. Merry Christmas, India, To Gandhi in his cell, From righteous Christian England, Ring out, bright Christmas bell! Ring Merry Christmas, Africa, From Cairo to the Cape! Ring Hallehuiah! Praise the Lord! (For murder and rape.) Ring Merry Christmas, Haiti! (And drown the voodoo drums – We’ll rob you to the Christian hymns Until the next Christ comes.) Ring Merry Christmas, Cuba! (While Yankee domination Keeps a nice fat president In a little half-starved nation.) And to you down-and-outers, (“Due to economic laws”) Oh, eat, drink, and be merry With a bread-line Santa Claus – While all the world hails Christmas, While all the church bells sway! While, better still, the Christian guns Proclaim this joyous day! While holy steel that makes us strong Spits forth a mighty Yuletide song: SHOOT Merry Christmas everywhere! Let Merry Christmas GAS the air!
Christmas Eve: Nearing Midnight In New York ~
The Christmas trees are almost all sold And the ones that are left go cheap The children almost all over town Have almost gone to sleep.
The skyscraper lights on Christmas Eve Have almost all gone out There’s very little traffic Almost no one about.
Our town’s almost as quiet As Bethlehem must have been Before a sudden angel chorus Sang PEACE ON EARTH GOOD WILL TO MEN!
Our old Statue of Liberty Looks down almost with a smile As the Island of Manhattan Awaits the morning of the Child.
Literary Fictions 