The Poem Reader

Good King Wences'las looked out,on the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,deep and crisp and even;Brightly shone the moon that night,tho' the frost was cruel,When a poor man came in sight,gath'ring winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me,if thou know'st it, telling,Yonder peasant, who is he?Where and what his dwelling?""Sire, he lives a good league hence,underneath the mountain;Right against the forest fence,by Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,bring me pine logs hither:Thou and I shall see him dine,when we bear them thither."Page and monarch, forth they went,forth they went together;Through the rude wind's wild lamentand the bitter weather.

"Sire, the night is darker now,and the wind blows stronger;Fails my heart, I know not how;I can go no longer.""Mark my footsteps, good my page.Tread thou in them boldlyThou shalt find the winter's ragefreeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod,where the snow lay dinted;Heat was in the very sodwhich the saint had printed.Therefore, Christian men, be sure,wealth or rank possessing,Ye who now will bless the poor,shall yourselves find blessing.

Hark! The herald angels sing,“Glory to the newborn King!Peace on earth and mercy mild,God and sinners reconciled.”Joyful, all ye nations rise,Join the triumph of the skies,With th’angelic host proclaim:“Christ is born in Bethlehem.”Hark! The herald angels sing,“Glory to the newborn King!”

Christ by highest heav'n adored,Christ the everlasting Lord!Late in time behold Him come,Offspring of a Virgin's womb.Veiled in flesh the Godhead see,Hail the incarnate Deity,Pleased as man with man to dwell,Jesus, our Emmanuel.Hark! The herald angels sing,“Glory to the newborn King!”

Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!Hail the Son of Righteousness!Light and life to all He brings,Ris'n with healing in His wings.Mild He lays His glory by,Born that man no more may die,Born to raise the sons of earth,Born to give them second birth.Hark! The herald angels sing,“Glory to the newborn King!”

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.The children were nestled all snug in their beds,While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.Away to the window I flew like a flash,Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snowGave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.With a little old driver, so lively and quick,I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roofThe prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my head, and was turning around,Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.He had a broad face and a little round belly,That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.And laying his finger aside of his nose,And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

In the bleak mid-winterFrosty wind made moanEarth stood hard as iron,Water like a stone;Snow had fallen, snow on snow,Snow on snow,In the bleak mid-winterLong ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold HimNor earth sustain,Heaven and earth shall flee awayWhen He comes to reign:In the bleak mid-winterA stable-place sufficedThe Lord God Almighty —Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubimWorship night and day,A breastful of milkAnd a mangerful of hay;Enough for Him, whom AngelsFall down before,The ox and ass and camelWhich adore.

Angels and ArchangelsMay have gathered there,Cherubim and seraphimThronged the air;But only His MotherIn her maiden blissWorshipped the BelovedWith a kiss.

What can I give Him,Poor as I am? —If I were a ShepherdI would bring a lamb;If I were a Wise ManI would do my part, —Yet what I can I give Him, —Give my heart.

How like a winter hath my absence beenFrom thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!What old December's bareness everywhere!And yet this time remov'd was summer's time,The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:Yet this abundant issue seem'd to meBut hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,And thou away, the very birds are mute;Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheerThat leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

Go and open the door.Maybe outside there’sa tree, or a wood,a garden,or a magic city.

Go and open the door.Maybe a dog’s rummaging.Maybe you’ll see a face,or an eye,or the pictureof a picture.

Go and open the door.If there’s a fogit will clear.

Go and open the door.Even if there’s onlythe darkness ticking,even if there’s onlythe hollow wind,even ifnothingis there,go and open the door.

At leastthere’ll bea draught

My soul doth sing and my heart doth leap,When I catch sight of compost heap. Let me explain what there is to behold In this putrefying, festering mound of mould.

Cut grass and leaves, bygone meals, Old tea bags, stale bread, potato peel, Bananas turned black and egg shells galore, All coated in powdery-blue fungal spore.

All those things you don’t want, you just throw them here And nutritious soil will appear in a year Thanks to worms and ants, beetles and lice. It is a creepy crawly paradise.

They tirelessly process the peel and the rind With nothing but their self-interest in mind. Nothing is wasted, nor centrally planned. It’s like Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand.

This is an example it’s plain to see Of a functioning, free-market economy.

Get for your weekly poem, read beautifully.

Because I could not stop for Death —He kindly stopped for me —The Carriage held but just Ourselves —And Immortality.We slowly drove — He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility —We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess — in the Ring —We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain —We passed the Setting Sun —Or rather — He passed Us —The Dews drew quivering and Chill —For only Gossamer, my Gown —My Tippet — only Tulle —We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling of the Ground —The Roof was scarcely visible —The Cornice — in the Ground —Since then — 'tis Centuries — and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses' HeadsWere toward Eternity

—

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

Remember, remember!    The fifth of November,    The Gunpowder treason and plot;    I know of no reason    Why the Gunpowder treason    Should ever be forgot!    Guy Fawkes and his companions    Did the scheme contrive,    To blow the King and Parliament    All up alive.    Threescore barrels, laid below,    To prove old England's overthrow.    But, by God's providence, him they catch,    With a dark lantern, lighting a match!    A stick and a stake    For King James's sake!    If you won't give me one,    I'll take two,    The better for me,    And the worse for you.    A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,    A pint of beer to wash it down,    And a jolly good fire to burn him.    Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

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