jsburbidge: (Default)
 The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?
My God, no hymn for thee?
My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feeds
Of thoughts, and words, and deeds.

The pasture is thy word: the streams, thy grace
Enriching all the place.
Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers
Out-sing the day-light houres.

Then we will chide the sunne for letting night
Take up his place and right:
We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should
Himself the candle hold.

I will go searching, till I finde a sunne
Shall stay, till we have done;
A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly,
As frost-nipt sunnes look sadly.

Then we will sing, shine all our own day,
And one another pay:
His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,
Till ev’n his beams sing, and my musick shine.

-- George Herbert
jsburbidge: (Default)
 As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,
Surpris’d 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, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.
“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 shame and scorns;
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled 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 called unto mind that it was Christmas day.

- Robert Southwell
jsburbidge: (Default)
 RORATE coeli desuper!
  Hevins, distil your balmy schouris!
For now is risen the bricht day-ster,
  Fro the rose Mary, flour of flouris:
  The cleir Sone, quhom no cloud devouris,
Surmounting Phebus in the Est,
  Is cumin of his hevinly touris:
    Et nobis Puer natus est.
 
Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis,
  Tronis, potestatis, and marteiris seir,
And all ye hevinly operationis,
  Ster, planeit, firmament, and spheir,
  Fire, erd, air, and water cleir,
To Him gife loving, most and lest,
  That come in to so meik maneir;
    Et nobis Puer natus est.
 
Synnaris be glad, and penance do,
  And thank your Maker hairtfully;
For he that ye micht nocht come to
  To you is cumin full humbly
  Your soulis with his blood to buy
And loose you of the fiendis arrest—
  And only of his own mercy;
    Pro nobis Puer natus est.
 
All clergy do to him inclyne,
  And bow unto that bairn benyng,
And do your observance divyne
  To him that is of kingis King:
  Encense his altar, read and sing
In holy kirk, with mind degest,
  Him honouring attour all thing
    Qui nobis Puer natus est.
 
Celestial foulis in the air,
  Sing with your nottis upon hicht,
In firthis and in forrestis fair
  Be myrthful now at all your mycht;
  For passit is your dully nicht,
Aurora has the cloudis perst,
  The Sone is risen with glaidsum licht,
    Et nobis Puer natus est.
 
Now spring up flouris fra the rute,
  Revert you upward naturaly,
In honour of the blissit frute
  That raiss up fro the rose Mary;
  Lay out your levis lustily,
Fro deid take life now at the lest
  In wirschip of that Prince worthy
    Qui nobis Puer natus est.
 
Sing, hevin imperial, most of hicht!
  Regions of air mak armony!
All fish in flud and fowl of flicht
  Be mirthful and mak melody!
  All Gloria in excelsis cry!
Heaven, erd, se, man, bird, and best,—
  He that is crownit abone the sky
    Pro nobis Puer natus est!
 
-- William Dunbar

Christmas

Dec. 25th, 2017 08:31 am
jsburbidge: (Default)
The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain.
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hooker's Green.
 
The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that villagers can say
'The Church looks nice' on Christmas Day.
 
Provincial public houses blaze
And Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'
 
And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.
 
And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad,
And Christmas morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.
 
And is it true? and is it true?
The most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?
 
And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant.
 
No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was Man in Palestine
And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.

 -- John Betjeman 
jsburbidge: (Cottage)
There is no rose of swich vertu
As is the rose that bare Jhesu.
Alleluia.

For in this rose conteynyd was
Heven and erthe in lytyl space,
Res miranda.

Be that rose we may weel see
That he is God in personys three,
Pari forma.

The aungelys sungyn the shepherdes to
'Gloria in excelcis Deo.'
Gaudeamus.

Leve we all this wordly merthe,
And folwe we this joyful berthe;
Transeamus.
jsburbidge: (Cottage)
On the Morning of Christ's Nativity
Compos'd 1629

I

This is the Month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heav'ns eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

II

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,
Wherwith he wont at Heav'ns high Councel-Table,
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside; and here with us to be,
Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,
And chose with us a darksom House of mortal Clay.

III

Say Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn strein,
To welcom him to this his new abode,
Now while the Heav'n by the Suns team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

IV

See how from far upon the Eastern rode
The Star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet:
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;
Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet,
And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire,
From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow'd fire.

The Hymn

I

It was the Winter wilde,
While the Heav'n-born-childe,
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature in aw to him
Had doff't her gawdy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour.

II

Onely with speeches fair
She woo's the gentle Air
To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow,
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinfull blame,
The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw,
Confounded, that her Makers eyes
Should look so neer upon her foul deformities.

III

But he her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyd Peace,
She crown'd with Olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphear,
His ready Harbinger,
With Turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,
And waving wide her mirtle wand,
She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land.

IV

No War, or Battails sound
Was heard the World around:
The idle spear and shield were high up hung;
The hooked Chariot stood
Unstain'd with hostile blood,
The Trumpet spake not to the armed throng,
And Kings sate still with awfull eye,
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

V

But peacefull was the night
Wherin the Prince of light
His raign of peace upon the earth began:
The Windes, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kist,
Whispering new joyes to the milde Ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

VI

The Stars with deep amaze
Stand fixt in stedfast gaze,
Bending one way their pretious influence,
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;
But in their glimmering Orbs did glow,
Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII

And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The Sun himself with-held his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferiour flame,
The new-enlightn'd world no more should need;
He saw a greater Sun appear
Then his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear.

VIII

The Shepherds on the Lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sate simply chatting in a rustick row;
Full little thought they than,
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly com to live with them below;
Perhaps their loves, or els their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep.

IX

When such musick sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
As never was by mortall finger strook,
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their souls in blisfull rapture took:
The Air such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close.

X

Nature that heard such sound
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia's seat, the Airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was don,
And that her raign had here its last fulfilling;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI

At last surrounds their sight
A Globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shame-fac't night array'd,
The helmed Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid,
Harping in loud and solemn quire,
With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.

XII

Such Musick (as 'tis said)
Before was never made,
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
While the Creator Great
His constellations set,
And the well-balanc't world on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII

Ring out ye Crystall sphears,
Once bless our human ears,
(If ye have power to touch our senses so)
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow,
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to th' Angelike symphony.

XIV

For if such holy Song
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,
And speckl'd vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,
And Hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

XV

Yea Truth, and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Th' enameld Arras of the Rainbow wearing,
And Mercy set between,
Thron'd in Celestiall sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing,
And Heav'n as at som festivall,
Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall.

XVI

But wisest Fate sayes no,
This must not yet be so,
The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy,
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;
So both himself and us to glorifie:
Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep,
The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

XVII

With such a horrid clang
As on mount Sinai rang
While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake:
The aged Earth agast
With terrour of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the center shake,
When at the worlds last session,
The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne.

XVIII

And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
Th' old Dragon under ground,
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway,
And wrath to see his Kingdom fail,
Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

XIX

The Oracles are dumm,
No voice or hideous humm
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance, or breathed spell,
Inspire's the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX

The lonely mountains o're,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
From haunted spring and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale,
The parting Genius is with sighing sent,
With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn
The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

In consecrated Earth,
And on the holy Hearth,
The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint,
In Urns, and Altars round,
A drear, and dying sound
Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;
And the chill Marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII

Peor, and Baalim,
Forsake their Temples dim,
With that twise-batter'd god of Palestine,
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Heav'ns Queen and Mother both,
Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine,
The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.

XXIII

And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dred.
His burning Idol all of blackest hue,
In vain with Cymbals ring,
They call the grisly king,
In dismall dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.

XXIV

Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian Grove, or Green,
Trampling the unshowr'd Grasse with lowings loud:
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest,
Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud:
In vain with Timbrel'd Anthems dark
The sable-stoled Sorcerers bear his worshipt Ark.

XXV

He feels from Juda's land
The dredded Infants hand,
The rayes of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
Nor all the gods beside,
Longer dare abide,
Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe, to shew his Godhead true,
Can in his swadling bands controul the damned crew.

XXVI

So when the Sun in bed,
Curtain'd with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an Orient wave.
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to th' infernall jail,
Each fetter'd Ghost slips to his severall grave,
And the yellow-skirted Fayes
Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their Moon-lov'd maze.

XXVII

But see the Virgin blest,
Hath laid her Babe to rest.
Time is our tedious Song should here have ending,
Heav'ns youngest-teemed Star
Hath fixt her polisht Car,
Her sleeping Lord with Handmaid Lamp attending.
And all about the Courtly Stable,
Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.

- John Milton
jsburbidge: (Cottage)
I don't mean the feast of Christmas proper, Verbum caro factum est, the decree that went out from Caesar Augustus, and all that. Theologically, it's about as fixed as anything in the Enchiridion, and liturgically it's all over the map these days.

I mean the general cultural celebration of Christmas.

It's been well-documented how it's changed before. If we take the late mediaeval period as a baseline -- it's arbitrary, but relatively well documented, unlike, say, a sixth-century baseline -- and our domain the English-speaking world, then we can enumerate at least the following stages:

1) The late mediaeval period has a somewhat merged public/private set of "secular" observances of Christmas. It's where the limited set of real carols comes from (they were the music for country dances, not for singing in church), where the "feast of misrule" traits which survive into Shakespeare come from, where the "unruly" public customs of wassailing, mumming, and so forth come from. Public observances at a high level were a mix of the stately (the holding of a Christmas Court) and the liturgical (elaborate Christmas masses in the presence of the monarch). (It's at the very end of this period that Martin Luther invents the Christmas tree off in the Holy Roman Empire; it takes four centuries to reach England, although a little less to reach Canada.)

2) The Elizabethan settlement (skipping over the wild swings of observance under Edward and Mary) preserved (or at least did not very heavily suppress) much of the low-level popular observance, especially as many of the magistrates might be nostalgic for the old days themselves (things might vary widely according to the views of the local squire). It did, however, cut down on the explicitly religious side (no more midnight mass, and the monarch, now head of the church, no longer required the validation of the liturgy in quite the same way). I'll treat this as covering the general patterns of the Jacobean and Caroline periods as well. Old customs and beliefs were already becoming of "antiquarian" interest.

3) The Commonwealth suppressed Christmas, not very successfully.

4) The Restoration and Eighteenth Century brought Christmas back, but the social changes which followed the Revolution of 1688 gradually made many of the local observances still more "antiquarian", and the dislocation of the Commonwealth probably caused many customs to fall into desuetude in any case.

This is usually considered the low point both of Christmas observance (between the Renaissance and the Victorian revival) and of religiousness in the (rather Erastian) Church of England. Nevertheless, there are evidences of surviving customs even in an urban setting --


I am a young woman and have my fortune to make for which reason I come constantly to church to hear divine service, and make conquests: But one great hindrance in this my design, is that our clerk, who was once a gardener, has this Christmas so over-deckt the church with greens, that he has quite spoilt my prospect, insomuch that I have scarce seen the young baronet I dress at these three weeks, though we have both been very constant at our devotions, and do not sit above three pews off. The church, as it is now equipt, looks more like a green-house than a place of worship: the middle isle is a very pretty shady walk, and the pews look like so many arbours of each side of it. The pulpit itself has such clusters of ivy, holly, and rosemary about it, that a light fellow in our pew took occasion to say, that the congregation heard the word out of a bush, like Moses. Sir Anthony Love's pew in particular is so well hedged, that all my batteries have no effect. I am obliged to shoot at random among the boughs, without taking any manner of aim. Mr. SPECTATOR, unless you will give orders for removing these greens, I shall grow a very awkward creature at church, and soon have little else to do there but say my prayers. [from The Spectator]


-- (greenery as a mark of the season has a very long lineage, much antedating the English adoption of the German Christmas tree).

5) The Victorian period is marked by a firm attempt to suppress the surviving rowdy observances of Christmas while reviving in a domestic setting antiquarian customs. Christmas carols come back in (stripped of the drunken revels of a wassailing party), reaching their height in the early 20th Century with Dearmer's Oxford Book of Carols. The plum pudding, which had a general association with festival in its origin, becomes firmly tied to Christmas observance, as does its cousin the fruitcake. The Victorians were the inventors of Christmas cards. Christmas trees came over with Prince Albert. Off in New York, many of the critical factors merged to create the Christmas figure of Santa Claus, as a blend of the English Father Christmas and the Dutch variant of St. Nicholas (who was a December 6th figure). Christmas presents also seem to have emerged from the oranges, nuts (or coal) associated with St. Nicholas.

In many ways, when I was growing up, we still lived (or so it seems to me) in an aftermath of the Victorian stage. The principal innovations had been electric Christmas lights, which meant that a Christmas tree could be lit up for more than a few hours on Christmas Eve / Christmas Day (when it was green and reasonably safe to use lighted candles).

Commercialism was nothing new, either. The Christmas card was commercial from the beginning.

By 1954, C.S. Lewis was already complaining about a commercialized Christmas which had much the same shape as the one we have now (in his "Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter from Herodotus").

I wonder, however, how much the Victorian pattern is attenuating and being replaced by a newer one. It can be hard to tell: one's own experience of domestic Christmas is likely to be fairly stable, but what may have been "normal" for your family forty years ago might be rather rarer now; so what one perceives as a relatively little changing pattern could be in rather greater flux. (It's like one's own idiolect. One starts out with a baseline set domestically, modified by one's own early peers, but as one gets older, it will diverge from what younger users of the language have as their idiolects.) I've had basically the same pattern of observing Christmas since the early 1980s, and I go to a family Christmas Day gathering which has been ongoing since before I was born.

Certainly, in central Canada, it seems to me that there is a very much reduced importance of Christmas cards (which bulk large in Lewis' description, and in my own memory), compared to when I was young, and that this antedated the emergence of e-mail. (Part of the local reason for this may have been the postal strike of 1975, ending December 2, which disrupted many people's habits of organizing and sending Christmas cards early.)

Certainly, too, the increased secularism of the Canadian context has led to the replacement of carol singing assemblies in schools (using sheets produced by the local papers) by winter pageants with generic winter themes. (The decoupling of what one might call broadly a "festival of lights" decoration period (running from early November to early January) from any specific religious associations has probably assisted, not discouraged, the extension of generic festive decorations in public spaces.)

Environmental concerns have led to the abandonment of actual Christmas trees in many (but not all) public contexts for more abstract light decorations. The cheapness (both as an initial outlay and as a running cost due to low wattage) of LED Christmas lights have encouraged a proliferation of light-oriented decorations.

Christmas cake seems to be present mainly by it's absence, with snarky comments being made about regifting it or using it as a brick. Making a pudding is a time-intensive process which requires thinking some weeks ahead; I doubt that it really survives except among Anglophile foodies.

The commercial impress of the general decorate-and-give-children-presents (and, the merchants would like you to remember, other adults, including yourself) meme is unlikely to go away given its rootedness in the mercantile profitability model; the people who replace gift-giving by charitable donations, or who insist on holding to giving only handmade presents to close family, are probably going to remain in the minority, and immigrants are likely to pick up the pattern (via pressure from their children via their children's peers) unless they have specific cultural reasons for resisting it. (Even then, Hanukkah, for example, has come to resemble general North American Christmas a lot more than it did a century ago.)

The downtime pattern of the mid-20th Century (and the Victorian period), whereby things basically stopped for a couple of days, still holds on in England, but in North America it has been displaced by the Boxing Day sale, with a hectic week following Christmas.

But I wonder, though, how much the "reunite extended family" pattern is likely to be taken up by immigrants from other cultures who aren't inclined that way in the first place, or for whom it's impractical.

At what point can we really say that we've moved into a different mode of winter festival celebration than that which the Victorians left us? I don't think that it was true fifty years ago; but I am beginning to suspect that it is beginning to be true today

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