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Saints' Discussion Forums  |  Forums  |  Saints' & Spiritual Life General Discussion  |  Topic: Christmas Resources 0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic. « previous next »
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Shin
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« on: December 25, 2016, 02:28:23 PM »

The Burning Babe

AS I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright, did in the air appear;

Who, scorchèd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed,
As though His floods should quench His flames, which with His tears were bred:
'Alas!' quoth He, 'but newly born, in fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!

'My faultless breast the furnace is; the fuel, wounding thorns;
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; the ashes, shames and scorns;
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defilèd souls:

For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood.'
With this He vanish'd out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I callèd unto mind that it was Christmas Day.

New Prince, New Pomp

Behold, a seely tender babe
In freezing winter night
In homely manger trembling lies;
Alas, a piteous sight!

The inns are full, no man will yield
This little pilgrim bed,
But forced he is with seely beasts
In crib to shroud his head.

Despise him not for lying there,
First, what he is enquire,
An orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,
Nor beasts that by him feed;
Weigh not his mother's poor attire
Nor Joseph's simple weed.

This stable is a prince's court,
This crib his chair of state,
The beasts are parcel of his pomp,
The wooden dish his plate.

The persons in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear;
The prince himself is come from heaven;
This pomp is prized there.

With joy approach, O Christian right,
Do homage to thy king;
And highly prize his humble pomp
Which he from heaven doth bring.

... Some extracts of poetry for Christmas from English poet Fr. Robert Southwell who died in the year of Our Lord 1595. These are modernized spelling, but the older has quite the charm too.
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'Flores apparuerunt in terra nostra. . . Fulcite me floribus. (The flowers appear on the earth. . . stay me up with flowers. Sg 2:12,5)
eschator83
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« Reply #1 on: December 25, 2016, 03:15:07 PM »

Perhaps Merry Christmas doesn't seem the most appropriate salutation, what would be better...  Bon Noel to all.  Blessings, Peace, Hope, Love, and Faith.
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Shin
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« Reply #2 on: December 25, 2016, 03:34:22 PM »

Bon Noel eschator!  Cheesy Cheesy Cheesy
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'Flores apparuerunt in terra nostra. . . Fulcite me floribus. (The flowers appear on the earth. . . stay me up with flowers. Sg 2:12,5)
Shin
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« Reply #3 on: December 25, 2022, 03:33:48 AM »

Bon Noel my friends!
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'Flores apparuerunt in terra nostra. . . Fulcite me floribus. (The flowers appear on the earth. . . stay me up with flowers. Sg 2:12,5)
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