39 Household Christmas Carols (1850)

Household Christmas Carols

by Richard H. Horne

HOUSEHOLD CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

“Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy-laden,

and I will give you rest.”^[1]

                          Chorus.

      BRIGHT thoughts and hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

            A golden radiance of our tears.

5

      In that confused, yet heavenly shrine,

            The soul unearthly music hears;

      The Eastern Star sheds rays divine

            On our afflictions and our fears;

And now amidst a gleaming halo stands

10

The Infant Christ—and stretches forth his hands!

      THE LAME CHILD’S CAROL.

      To the chords of the harp,

            And the warbling of the flute,

      The merry tambourine,

            And the beat of shoe and boot—

5

      In the drawing-room, the parlour,

            The alms-house, or the street,

      Oh, what joy it always is to me

            To see those dancing feet!

      The ball-room is all brightness!

10

            I sit and watch the throng;

      My spirit, with their lightness,

            Bounds happily along:

      The village school-room^[2] strives to shine

            With candles prim and small!

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      But oh, what beaming faces

            Light up the whitewashed wall!

      Then dance, my loving playmates,

            Like birds upon the wing,

      Flit by me—whirl around me—

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            While I sit here, and sing.

                          Chorus.

      Bright sunny hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

            A golden radiance of our tears,

         THE DEAF CHILD’S CAROL.

SING, happy children, standing in a row,

      With smiling rosy cheeks, and hand in hand;

When the voice answers to the full heart’s flow,

      Mine sings within—and I can understand.

5

‘Tis now three Christmas Eves since I have lost

      All sense of sound—in constant silence dwelling;

But in my soul I hear, in tones august,

      The wonders that the earth and heavens are telling.

Suns, stars, and moons, and oceans fathomless;

10

      Man’s generations—seed, and grass, and corn;

All these are hymned; but in its happiness,

      The heart hears angels sing, that ” Christ was born!”

So, will I gaze upon each emblem holy,

      And at the festive board, or merry game,

15

In sympathy absorb all melancholy,

      And loving thoughts to joyful visions frame.

                         Chorus.

      Bright sunny hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

20

            A golden radiance of our tears.

   THE DEFORMED CHILD’S CAROL

      THERE was a gentle steadfast gleam

            Upon the morning sky,

      Which shone across a stable door,

            With shepherds standing by.

5

      And wise old men were also there,

            With beards that downward bowed,

      And folded turbans on their heads,

            And staves, o’er which they bowed.

      The shepherds were of manly grace,

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            Their limbs of finest mould,

      And noble were those field-born fronts,

            Sun-brent to swarthy gold.

      The stable-door was open wide,—

            Within ’twas dusky dim,

15

      Save that a circle of soft rays

            Glowed to a low-breathed hymn.

      It shone around an Infant’s head;

            And to its Mother’s voice

      The glory seemed to palpitate,

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            And tell me to rejoice.

      I turned unto those shepherd men,

            Of matchless thews and bone,

      So lordly in their grace and strength—

            And they were kneeling down!

25

      I turned to see those old, wise men,

            The wisest of the land;

      And all of them were kneeling, too—

            Bowed head and upraised hand!

      Another, and a greater strength

30

            To cope with earth’s sad storms—

      Another, and a wiser lore,

            Smiled in that Mother’s arms.

      And shall not I, with these frail limbs,

            This framework of poor earth,^[3]

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      Rejoice with inward grace and strength

            At my great Teacher’s birth?

                         Chorus.

      Bright sunny hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

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            A golden radiance of our tears.

THE DEAF AND DUMB CHILD’S CAROL.

I CANNOT speak, I cannot hear,

      But I can feel and think,

And mine eyes are filled with the joyfulness

      That hand to hand doth link,—

5

                  While round and round

                 The dancers bound,

And laugh and shout—and I see the sound,

                  Though silent to me

                 All the noise and the glee

10

Of the dance, the round-game, and revelry.

Something within me struggles oft

      My happiness to tell in sounds;

Words—words—I strive to shout, or waft,

      Along the room across the grounds

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                  And o’er the snow

                  As my playmates go;

But though ’tis in vain since the day of my birth,

                 The voice of my mind

                 Is ne’er left behind,

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And cries welcome Christmas and all its good mirth!

The faces laugh in the red fire light!

      Fingers, looks, actions, all speak to me;

Antics and fun make a merry night,

      Till I fancy I hear the low hum of a sea,—

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                 A murmur and rush—

                 Though it ends in a hush,

All tell me there’s something outside of my ears;

                 But my life’s in my eyes,—

                 Oh, thank God for the prize!

30

Which I carol at Christmas as year rolls on years!

                         Chorus.

      Bright sunny hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

            A golden radiance of our tears.

   THE BLIND CHILD’S CAROL.

MY life is in the night—

      The never-ending night—

            But my soul is not in darkness,

      And hath a starry flight.

5

My nights are like my days—

      All never ending days—

            And to me a constant morning

      Of heaven-enfolding rays.

To me the sun and shade

10

      Are of one substance made,

            And one eternal glory,

      Which ne’er can fail or fade,

For on my close-seal’d eyes

      Hath Christ, in all things wise,

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            Reversed the common miracle—

      And given me inward skies.

Therein His form I trace,

      In all it’s Infant grace! —

            And pictures of His sufferings

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      For all the human race!

Therein, I recognise

      Earth’s littleness of size, —

            And all the planet-nations

      Whom Love will Christianise.

                       Chorus.

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      Bright thoughts and hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

            A golden radiance of our tears.

         THE SICK CHILD’S CAROL.

YOU say I do not look so pale to-day,

                  But in my cheek

A rose-leaf tint begins to bloom and play,

                 And I am not so weak.

5

It is because I see you all

So happy at the feast—the ball—

The merry-making in the hall.

And Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day, to me

                 Are very dear;

10

They bring a bright and wondering memory

                  Of one delightful year.

I look back through my little span,

And thinking how its joys began

Forget how thin and changed I am.

15

They led—me I was then a little child—

                 Through a dark door,

Into a room all hung with branches wild,

                 With lights upon the floor;

And lights above—in front—behind—

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So bright they almost made me blind,

While other sights confused my mind.

It was the splendour of a Christmas Tree!

                 With fruits thick hung,

And glittering pictures, lights, and spanglery,

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                 The dark fir boughs among.

While soft-toned music came—and went—

I cried in joy’s bewilderment,

“This Tree I ‘m sure from heaven was sent!”

                           Chorus.

      Bright sunny hopes are now awake,

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            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

            A golden radiance of our tears.

     THE HEALTHY CHILD’S CAROL.

      Come hither, dear playmates,

            Let’s rove hand in hand,

      And some shall be carried,

            And others be led.

5

      You can speak with eyes—fingers—

            We all understand,

      And away we will go

            To the frosty upland,

      Where the sun shines like gold

10

            On the roof of the shed.

      There, the long row of sliders

            Go down the keen slide!

      There, others are building

            A huge man of snow!

15

      While yonder a crowd,

            Half-way down the hill side,

      A great snow-ball battle

            Are now to decide,

      And all the fresh faces

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            Are sharp and a-glow.

      Now come home—draw the curtains,

            More coals, and a log!—

      Clear the room for the forfeits,

            The dance, and the game;

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      Horace promised to gallop

            Thrice round like a dog,

      And Virgil will show

            His proud feat of “the frog,”

      While we all look like ghosts

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            In the snap-dragon’s frame.

      The green holly-boughs,

            With their berries so red,

      Adorn the bright room

            Where the feast is set out;

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      Ah, this is a night

            When we can’t go to bed,

      For no one could sleep

            While such mirth fills his head,

      With troops of gay fancies

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            All dancing about.

      Now all clasp your hands

            At the treasure all find,

      That He whose Nativity

            Angels now quire,

45

      Gave help to the weak,

            In the strength of the mind,

      Bidding those who are strong

            To be loving and kind,

      When the holly-boughs sparkle

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            And blaze in the fire!

                            Chorus.

      Bright thoughts and hopes are now awake,

            As constant as the circling years;

      They penetrate each grief, and make

            A golden radiance of our tears.

55

      In that confused, yet heavenly shrine,

            The soul unearthly music hears;

      The Eastern Star sheds rays divine

      On our afflictions and our fears;

And now amidst a gleaming halo stands

60

The Infant Christ—and stretches forth his hands!