{"id":2796,"date":"2005-12-24T11:51:28","date_gmt":"2005-12-24T16:51:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/?p=2796"},"modified":"2005-12-24T11:52:51","modified_gmt":"2005-12-24T16:52:51","slug":"december-into-may-two-christmas-poems","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/2005\/12\/december-into-may-two-christmas-poems\/","title":{"rendered":"December into May: Two Christmas Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

The weather in Boston is positively balmy–sunny and 45 degrees. This, of course, reminds me of a poem:<\/p>\n

A Christmas Caroll, sung to the King
\nin the Presence at White-Hall<\/p>\n

by Robert Herrick<\/p>\n

What sweeter musick can we bring,
\nThen a Caroll, for to sing
\nThe Birth of this our heavenly King?
\nAwake the Voice! Awake the String!<\/p>\n

I.\tDark and dull night, flie hence away,
\nAnd give the honour to this Day,
\nThat sees December turn’d to May.<\/p>\n

2.\tIf we may ask the reason, say;
\nThe why, and wherefore all things here
\nSeem like the Spring-time of the yeere?<\/p>\n

3.\tWhy do’s the chilling Winters morne
\nSmile, like a field beset with corne?
\nOr smell, like to a Meade new-shorne,
\nThus, on the sudden? 4. Come and see
\nThe cause, why things thus fragrant be :
\n‘Tis He is borne, whose quickning Birth
\nGives life and luster, publike mirth,
\nTo Heaven, and the under-Earth.<\/p>\n

We see Him come, and know him ours,
\nWho, with His Sun-shine, and His showers,
\nTurnes all the patient ground to flowers.<\/p>\n

I.\tThe Darling of the world is come,
\nAnd fit it is, we finde a roome
\nTo welcome Him. <\/p>\n

2. The nobler part
\nOf all the house here, is the heart,<\/p>\n

Which we will give Him ; and bequeath
\nThis Hollie, and this Ivie Wreath,
\nTo do Him honour, who’s our King,
\nAnd Lord of all this Revelling.
\n————————————————————————
\nExcerpted from:
\nHerrick, Robert. The Poems of Robert Herrick.
\nLondon: Oxford University Press, 1933, p.385-386.<\/p>\n

At the risk of having to permanently surrender my music snob credentials, I confess to having fallen in love with this poem in John Rutter’s treacly setting, which you can hear here<\/a>. It took me several rehearsals to be able to make it through the bit about the winter’s morn smiling and smelling like a meadow without choking up a little. In part, this is because I am deep-down quite pagan, and always tempted to love the creation more than the Creator, and in part it was because I once saw November turned to March, on the occasion of a particularly joy-filled birth. <\/p>\n

When my daughter Louisa was born in late November of 1998, Philadelphia had nearly a week of crazy-warm temperatures. The day she was born, it was 70 degrees. When we brought her home from the hospital, the forsythia outside our front door, tricked by the false spring, was in full golden bloom. If you knew my Lulu, this would make perfect sense–she has always been an astonishingly joyful child, nourished by rich springs of delight (which, by the way, are also a constant source of puzzled wonder to her melancholic Scandinavian mama). Of course<\/em> the world smiled in the place where she landed.<\/p>\n

It seems to me that this, simply, is the miracle Christmas requires us to believe in–that the events on this earth are intimately known and influenced by the One who made the earth. That the weather down here matters, that matter<\/em> matters to the One who breathes His Spirit into it in a thousand ways. We are asked to believe that this is true not just in the runaway imagination of poets, but in material, palpable reality. The virgin birth, a new star, nights as bright as day–if we believe these things, then we will also find it possible to believe that we, each of us, matter to our Creator. We will find it possible that he can influence the unpredictable weather of the human heart, a possibility beautifully envisioned by one of my favorite hymn texts by John Newton (also the author of the text ‘Amazing Grace’).<\/p>\n

How Tedious and Tasteless the Hours
\nWhen Jesus I no longer I see
\nSweet prospects, sweet birds and sweet flow’rs
\nHave all lost their sweetness to me;
\nThe midsummer sun shines but dim
\nThe fields strive in vain to look gay;
\nBut when I am happy in Him
\nDecember’s as pleasant as May.<\/p>\n

His name yields the richest perfume,
\nAnd sweeter than music his voice.
\nHis presence disperses my gloom.
\nAnd makes all within me rejoice.
\nI should, were he always thus nigh
\nHave nothing to wish or to fear;
\nNo mortal so happy as I,
\nMy summer would last all the year.<\/p>\n

Content with beholding his face,
\nMy all to his pleasure resigned,
\nNo changes of season or place
\nWould make any change in my mind.
\nWhile blessed with a sense of his love,
\nA palace a toy would appear;
\nAnd prisons would palaces prove,
\nIf Jesus would dwell with me there.<\/p>\n

Dear Lord, if indeed I am thine.
\nIf thou art my sun and my song,
\nSay, why do I languish and pine,
\nAnd why are my winters so long?
\nO drive these dark clouds from my sky,
\nThy soul-cheering presence restore;
\nOr take me to thee upon high,
\nWhere winter and clouds are no more.<\/p>\n

Merry Christmas to all of you!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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