Those dreadful evidences of Man’s ill-doing
The kindly Mother of all shall soon hide deep,
Covering with tender fingers her children asleep,
Till Time’s slow cycle turns them to renewing
In other forms their beauty—no grief, no rueing
Irrevocable woe. They’ll lie, they’ll steep
Their hearts in peace unfathomed, till they leap
Quick to the light of the sun, as flowers strewing,
Maybe, their own friends’ paths. And that’s not all.
When men who knew them walk old ways alone,
The paths they loved together, at even-fall,
The troubled heart shall know a presence near,
Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone,
The new keen joy shall make all darkness clear.
CAROL
Winter now has bared the trees,
Killed with tiny swords the jolly
Leafage that mid-summer sees,
But left the ivy and the holly.
Hold them high
And make delight
For Christë’s joy that’s born to-night.
All green things but these have hid
Their heads, or died in melancholy,
Winter’s spite them all has rid
Save only ivy and brave holly.
Give them place
In all men’s sight
For Christë’s grace that’s born to-night.
Baby eyes are pleased to see
Bright red berries and children jolly,
So shout and dance and sing with glee,
And honour ivy and prickly holly.
Honour courage
And make delight
For Christë’s sake that’s born to-night.
Christus natus hodie!
Drink deep of joy on Christmas Day,
Join hands and sing a roundelay,
For this is Christ’s and children’s day,
Christus natus hodie!
Hodie!
STRANGE SERVICE
Little did I dream, England, that you bore me
Under the Cotswold hills beside the water meadows,
To do you dreadful service, here, beyond your borders
And your enfolding seas.
I was a dreamer ever, and bound to your dear service,
Meditating deep, I thought on your secret beauty,
As through a child’s face one may see the clear spirit
Miraculously shining.
Your hills not only hills, but friends of mine and kindly,
Your tiny knolls and orchards hidden beside the river
Muddy and strongly-flowing, with shy and tiny streamlets
Safe in its bosom.