Here is my favorite Christmas/New Year's poem:

This poem was written in 1908 by Minnie Louise Haskins, an American lecturer at the London School of Economics, who wrote as a hobby. King George VI included it in his famous Christmas message broadcast in 1939 at the beginning of the Second World War.

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'
And he replied, 'Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!'
So I went forth and finding the Hand of God
Trod gladly into the night
He led me towards the hills
And the breaking of day in the lone east.
So heart be still!
What need our human life to know
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife of things
Both high and low,
God hideth his intention."

Here is one of my favorites, and not well-known enough (despite my best efforts!)

A Christmas Hymn

"And some of the Pharisees from among the multitude said unto him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.

And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out."
---St. Luke XIX, 39-40

A stable-lamp is lighted
Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
And straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven,
A stall become a shrine.

This child through David's city
Shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
Though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway
To pave his kingdom come.

Yet he shall be forsaken,
And yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
For stony hearts of men:
God's blood upon the spearhead,
God's love refused again.

But now, as at the ending,
The low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
In praises of the child
By whose descent among us
The worlds are reconciled.

Here is a poem by John Betjeman the late English Poet Laureate, lover of small country churches and the county of Cornwall.
Some poetry purists are sniffy about his work but he certainly appealed to 'Middle England' and me.

Christmas
by
John Betjeman

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.

Vee,

I don't know the poem though I know a lot of Betjeman and I can hear his voice coming through it. I like his work now much better than I did when I was young.

I like the sleaze of this poem; the description of the cheapness and the tawdry which is Christmas - but he then proceeds to transcend that and arrive at the same sort of potential awe as Hardy does in The Oxen. 'Ah..... if only....', he says, in effect. Though I think Betjeman was a Christian, which Hardy was not. ( In any case, everyone has their doubts, I imagine, from what I've read).

He marries all the basic, cheap and cheerful things which we are long familiar with as what makes 'Christmas' on one level, and the absolutely profound and spiritual, on the other.

Dido

CHRISTMAS DAY

This is the day when kindred meet
Round one accustomed social fire:
If still survive the hoary Sire
In patriarchal age, beside his honour'd feet
His Children's Children claim the appropriate seat;
And if the Partner of his youthful days,
His dear supporter through the uncertain ways
Of busy life--if she be spared,
She who all joy, all grief has shared
Now is their happiness complete:
Their Children & their Children's Children meet
Beneath the Grandsire's reverenced roof,
Where faithful love through trying years has stood all proof.

Dorothy Wordsworth
January 5, 1837

"And hideous tie so kindly meant...."

I knew the line (and always loved it), but didn't know the poem. Thanks Vee.

Lovely poems - here is a simple favourite'

A Christmas Carol
by G.K.Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down

This is great - I did't know any of these.

Here's one which is usually sung as a carol.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Christina Rossetti, 1872

I must say I like it better as a carol - so beautiful with the music. For the words, I like the last stanza best.

Dido

Rather a different take - Causley's sinister ballad

Innocent's Song
The Holy Innocents is commemorated
December 28 or January 11

by Charles Causley

Who's that knocking on the window,
Who's that standing at the door,
What are all those presents
Laying on the kitchen floor?

Who is the smiling stranger
With hair as white as gin,
What is he doing with the children
And who could have let him in?

Why has he rubies on his fingers,
A cold, cold crown on his head,
Why, when he caws his carol,
Does the salty snow run red?

Why does he ferry my fireside
As a spider on a thread,
His fingers made of fuses
And his tongue of gingerbread?

Why does the world before him
Melt in a million suns,
Why do his yellow, yearning eyes
Burn like saffron buns?

Watch where he comes walking
Out of the Christmas flame,
Dancing, double-talking:

Herod is his name.

I've been reading a lot of Richardson Little Wright, and came across this poem by Joyce Kilmer that he dedicated to RLW.

Gates and Doors

(For Richardson Little Wright)

There was a gentle hostler
(And blessed be his name!)
He opened up the stable
The night Our Lady came.
Our Lady and Saint Joseph,
He gave them food and bed,
And Jesus Christ has given him
A glory round his head.

So let the gate swing open
However poor the yard,
Lest weary people visit you
And find their passage barred;
Unlatch the door at midnight
And let your lantern's glow
Shine out to guide the traveler's feet
To you across the snow.

There was a courteous hostler
(He is in Heaven to-night)
He held Our Lady's bridle
And helped her to alight;
He spread clean straw before her
Whereon she might lie down,
And Jesus Christ has given him
An everlasting crown.

Unlock the door this evening
And let your gate swing wide,
Let all who ask for shelter
Come speedily inside.
What if your yard be narrow?
What if your house be small?
There is a Guest is coming
Will glorify it all.

There was a joyous hostler
Who knelt on Christmas morn
Beside the radiant manger
Wherein his Lord was born.
His heart was full of laughter,
His soul was full of bliss
When Jesus, on His Mother's lap,
Gave him His hand to kiss.

Unbar your heart this evening
And keep no stranger out,
Take from your soul's great portal
The barrier of doubt.
To humble folk and weary
Give hearty welcoming,
Your breast shall be to-morrow
The cradle of a King.

OKAY MARTIN.....bring out the archived "'Twas The Night Before Christmas" poem that we all did several years ago!!

That one is far and away my personal favorite.
I still can laugh out loud reading that beauty.
We ARE good!!

Yvonne

ODE TO A NORTHEAST CHRISTMAS 2006
by Moi

How can it be Christmas
Without any white?
How will Santa's sleigh slide
on Christmas Eve night?

My cookies are baked,
My stockings are dangling,
The tree is aglow
And the ornaments are "hangling"!

We're ready to celebrate,
Now "On with the show!"
To make it complete
We just need some SNOW!

I suddenly remembered this poem which we had to copy out at school when I was about 10 years old. Great trouble finding it on Google

EddieÂs Service
by Rudyard Kipling

Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid
In his chapel at Manhood End,
Ordered a midnight service
For such as cared to attend.
But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,
And the night was stormy as well.
Nobody came to service,
Though Eddi rang the bell.

"Wicked weather for walking,"
Said Eddi of Manhood End.
"But I must go on with the service
For such as care to attend."

The altar-lamps were lighted,Â
An old marsh-donkey came,
Bold as a guest invited,
And stared at the guttering flame.

The storm beat on at the windows,
The water splashed on the floor,
And a wet, yoke-weary bullock
Pushed in through the open door.

"How do I know what is greatest,
How do I know what is least?
That is My FatherÂs business,"
Said Eddi, WilfridÂs priest.

"ButÂthree are gathered togetherÂ
Listen to me and attend.
I bring good news, my brethren!"
Said Eddi of Manhood End.

And he told the Ox of a Manger
And a Stall in Bethlehem,
And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider,
That rode to Jerusalem.

They steamed and dripped in the chancel,
They listened and never stirred,
While, just as though they were Bishops,
Eddi preached them The Word,

Till the gale blew off on the marshes
And the windows showed the day,
And the Ox and the Ass together
Wheeled and clattered away.

And when the Saxons mocked him,
Said Eddi of Manhood End,
"I dare not shut His chapel
On such as care to attend."

I like that, Vee. Thanks for posting it.

That is quite moving, Vee. Something to keep and to think about.

Just came across this on the TNR website:

[Editor's Note: In 1921, at the age of 26--well before he had written his classics I, Claudius or Goodbye to All That--Robert Graves penned this Christmas verse for The New Republic.]

On Christmas Eve the brute Creation
Lift up their heads and speak with human voices;
The Ox roars out his song of jubilation
And the Ass rejoices.

They dance for mirth in simple credence
That man from devildom this day was savéd,
That of his froward spirit he has found riddance;
They hymn the Son of David.

Ox and Ass cloistered in stable
Break bounds to-night and see what shall astound you,
A second Fall, a second death of Abel,
Wars renewed around you.

Cabals of great men against small men,
Mobs, murders, informations, the packed jury,
While Ignorance the lubber prince of all men,
Glowers with old-time fury.

Excellent beasts, resign your speaking
Tempted in man's own choleric tongue to name him.
Hoof-and-horn vengeance have no thought of wreaking,
Let your dumb grief shame