5 10 "OH, MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE” 51 Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, And what may yet be better, saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, To higher reverence more mixed with love, The cup of strength in some great agony, Whose music is the gladness of the world. MATTHEW ARNOLD ENGLAND, 1822-1888 Self-dependence Weary of myself, and sick of asking 5 And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: "Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! "Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, 10 On my heart your mighty charm renew; Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, Feel my soul becoming vast like you!" From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 15 In the rustling night-air came the answer: 20 "Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. "Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. PHILIP, MY KING! 'And with joy the stars perform their shining, "Bounded by themselves, and unregardful In what state God's other works may be, O air-born voice! long since, severely clear, 53 5 10 DINAH MULOCK CRAIK ENGLAND, 1826-1887 Philip, my King! Look at me with thy large brown eyes, Round whom the purple shadow lies Of babyhood's royal dignities. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand With Love's invisible scepter laden; I am thine Esther to command Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, 15 20 On the day that thou goest a-wooing, When some beautiful lips 'gin suing, For we that love, ah! we love so blindly, 10 I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow, The spirit that there lies sleeping now 20 Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, Philip, my king – A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day, Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray; Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious, 25 Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout, As thou sit'st at the feet of God victorious, "Philip, the king!" "GOD REST YE, MERRY GENTLEMEN" 55 "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas Day. The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray, When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas Day. God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright, For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night; Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay, When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas Day. God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed morn 5 The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born: 10 Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away; For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas Day. |