In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes.

Let us by the fire, etc.

Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang, with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.

Let us by the fire, etc.

These good people sang Songs devout and sweet; While the rafters rang There they stood with freezing feet.

Let us by the fire, etc.

Nuns in frigid cells At this holy tide For want of something else Christmas songs at times have tried.

Let us by the fire, etc.

Washerwomen old, To the sound they beat, Sing by rivers cold With uncovered heads and feet.

Let us by the fire, etc.

Who by the fireside stands Stamps his feet and sings; But he who blows his hands Not so gay a carol brings.

Let us by the fire, etc.

_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._

MASTERS, IN THIS HALL.

"To Bethl'em did they go, the shepherds three; To Bethl'em did they go to see whe'r it were so or no, Whether Christ were born or no To set men free."

Masters, in this hall, Hear ye news to-day Brought over sea, And ever I you pray.

_Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!_ _Sing we clear!_ _Holpen are all folk on earth,_ _Born is G.o.d's Son so dear._

Going over the hills, Through the milk-white snow, Heard I ewes bleat While the winds did blow.

_Nowell, etc._

Shepherds many an one Sat among the sheep; No man spake more word Than they had been asleep.

_Nowell, etc._

Quoth I, "Fellows mine, Why this guise sit ye?

Making but dull cheer, Shepherds though ye be?

_Nowell, etc._

"Shepherds should of right Leap, and dance, and sing; Thus to see you sit Is a right strange thing."

_Nowell, etc._

Quoth these fellows three, "To Bethl'em town we go, To see a Mighty Lord Lie in manger low."

_Nowell, etc._

"How name ye this Lord, Shepherds?" then said I.

"Very G.o.d," they said, "Come from Heaven high."

_Nowell, etc._

Then to Bethl'em town We went two and two, And in a sorry place Heard the oxen low.

_Nowell, etc._

Therein did we see A sweet and goodly May, And a fair old man; Upon the straw she lay.

_Nowell, etc._

And a little Child On her arm had she; "Wot ye who is this?"

Said the hinds to me.

_Nowell, etc._

Ox and a.s.s Him know, Kneeling on their knee: Wondrous joy had I This little Babe to see.

_Nowell, etc._

This is Christ the Lord: Masters, be ye glad!

Christmas is come in, And no folk should be sad.

_Nowell, etc._

_William Morris._

_The Worship Of The Babe._

"Rejoice, our Saviour He was born On Christmas day in the morning."

_Old Carol._

TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD; A PRESENT, BY A CHILD.

Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell Him by that bud now blown, He is a Rose of Sharon known.

When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon His bib or stomacher; And tell Him, for good handsel too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of a clean, strait oaten reed To charm His cries at time of need.

Tell Him for coral thou hast none, But if thou had'st He should have one; But poor thou art, and known to be Even as moneyless as He.

Lastly, if thou can'st win a kiss From those mellifluous lips of His, Then never take a second on To spoil the first impression.

_Robert Herrick._

HONOR TO THE KING.

Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night,"