The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Christmas Faggot, by Alfred Gurney This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: A Christmas Faggot Author: Alfred Gurney Release Date: January 20, 2009 [EBook #27851] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHRISTMAS FAGGOT *** Produced by Bryan Ness, Louise Pattison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A CHRISTMAS FAGGOT THAT AT THE NAME OF JESUS EVERY KNEE SHOULD BOW TO THE GLORY OF GOD THE FATHER· [Pg i] [Pg ii] A CHRISTMAS FAGGOT BY ALFRED GURNEY, M.A. VICAR OF S. BARNABAS', PIMLICO AUTHOR OF 'THE VISION OF THE EUCHARIST AND OTHER POEMS' ETC. 'The Darling of the world is come, And fit it is we finde a roome To welcome Him. The nobler part Of all the house here is the heart, Which we will give Him, and bequeath This hollie and this ivie wreath To do Him honour who's our King, The Lord of all this revelling' LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1884 (The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved) TO MY GODCHILDREN ETHEL, CYRIL, BERTRAM, LOUISE, ARTHUR. When the Angel of the waters With a gold and silver wing Gently stirred the wave baptismal, Heard ye not their carolling Who of old to Eastern shepherds Heralded their King? To the shepherds of His people Still those angel-voices tell How God's river feeds the fountain Opened by Emmanuel, Yielding the baptismal waters [Pg iii] Herrick, A Christmas Carol [Pg iv] [Pg v] ALBINIA, BASIL, WILFRID, HELEN, Of salvation's well. Children, you have passed those waters, Love-begotten from the dead; Will you make a gallant promise When my verses you have read— 'We will trace life's lovely river To the Fountain-head'? Loch Leven: 1884. PREFACE. Most of the following poems have appeared in the 'S. Barnabas' Parish Magazine.' For my godchildren and my people I have made them up into a little bundle of sticks—a Christmas faggot to feed the fires in the winter palace of our King. It is the Incarnation that justifies all joy, and song is the expression of joy. The Gospel Songs all celebrate the Great Nativity. Birth and marriage are the occasions most sacred to mirth and music among men; and Christmas is at once the Birthday and the Marriage Festival of Humanity. Glad and thankful shall I be if any song of mine should help to fan the flame of rejoicing love in any Christian heart at this holy and happy season. CONTENTS. PAGE YULE TIDE 1 THE MADONNA DI SAN SISTO 6 BETHLEHEM GATE 11 SAINT JOSEPH 16 A CRADLE SONG 18 A CRADLED CHILD 23 AN EMPTY CRADLE 26 NEW YEAR'S EVE 28 THE VICTIM 30 THE DAYSMAN 33 THE PHYSICIAN 36 THE POET 40 THREE SISTERS 43 A CHRISTMAS PUZZLE 46 FOUR EPIPHANIES 48 THE CHILDREN'S EUCHARIST 56 THE GOSPEL SONGS: I. Benedictus 59 II. Magnificat 63 III. Nunc Dimittis 66 NOTES 69 YULE TIDE. 'They bring me sorrow touched with joy, The merry merry bells of Yule.' [Pg vi] [Pg vii] [Pg viii] [Pg ix] [Pg x] [Pg 1] Tennyson, In Memoriam. The Royal Birthday dawns again, A stricken world to bless; And sufferers forget their pain, And mourners their distress. Love sings to-day; her eyes so fair With happy tears are wet; She is too humble to despair, Too faithful to forget. Her voice is very soft and sweet, Her heart is brave and strong; Her vassal, I would fain repeat Some fragments of her song. A Birthday-song my heart would sing Its rapture to express; My Father's son must be a king, And share His consciousness. Of God's Self-knowledge comes the Word That utters all His Thought; That Word made Flesh by all is heard Who seek as they are sought. His seeking and His finding make Our search an easy thing; He sows good seed, and bids us take The joys of harvesting. Yet must His children do their part, And what He gives accept; No heart can understand His Heart That has not bled and wept. All seasons, bring they bale or bliss, His priceless treasures hold; The Winter's silver all is His, And His the Summer's gold. Life's harvest is not reaped until The Christ within has grown To perfect manhood, and self-will By love is overthrown. Such manhood gained concludes the strife That makes the babe a boy; 'T is thus the seed becomes a life, The life becomes a joy. The eyes that weep are eyes that see, And swift are pilgrim-feet; Ah! hope at length may come to be Than memory more sweet. So keeping festival to-day, With children's laughter near, It is not hard to sing and pray, Tennyson, In Memoriam. [Pg 2] [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] 'T is hard to doubt or fear. Father, my heart to Thee I bring, To Thee my song address; From Winter pain and toil of Spring Grows Summer happiness. THE MADONNA DI SAN SISTO.[1] 'The Lord Himself shall give you a sign; behold, a Virgin shall conceive and bear a Son.' Behold, by Raphael shown, Love's sacrament! Earth's curtains part, God's veil is lifted up; There comes a Child, forth from His Bosom sent To rule the feast of life, His Bread and Cup, His purpose making plain with man to sup. Out-streams the light, accomplished is the Sign, A Virgin-Mother clasps a Babe Divine. Her lovely feet descend the cloudy stair, Great succour bringing to a world forlorn; On either side a man and woman share A common rapture, welcoming the dawn Of God's new day, the everlasting morn— Of such a day as shall from East to West Dispel the darkness, doing Love's behest. He turns a face all radiant to the Sun, Enamoured of the sight he looks upon; She to the end of what is now begun Downgazes, stooping, shadowed by the throne Made by a Maiden's arms, maternal grown; Than ivory most fair, than purest gold, More pure, more fair, and stronger to uphold. On cherubs twain, whom watching has made wise, A spell has fallen—a prophetic dream; Their upward-gazing and far-seeing eyes, Like stars reflected in a tranquil stream, To look beyond the Child and Mother seem; A twisted thorn-branch and a cross to them Are manifest—His throne and diadem. High heaven open stands, and there a crowd Of worshippers with love-lit eyes appear, Like stars down-gazing through a fleecy cloud, Dimly discerned as morning draweth near Spreading a radiant pall upon night's bier. The blessed thing the Sign doth signify They partly know, and are made glad thereby. But more the Mother knows, and more she sees Than soaring angel or than climbing saint; Her heart familiar grown with mysteries Of God's own working under love's constraint, The remedy she knows for man's complaint. The clouds are all beneath her, and above [Pg 6] [Pg 7] [Pg 8] [Pg 9] The light of life, the radiancy of love. And He, Whom Lord of love and life we hail, Is on her bosom borne, a blossom fair; The pentecostal breath that lifts her veil Has fanned His royal brow, and stirred His hair, And kissed His lips just parted for a prayer. That spirit-wind shall blow, that Face shall shine, Till all His brothers know their Father's Sign. Dresden: 1883. FOOTNOTES: See Note A, page 69. BETHLEHEM GATE. A Picture by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.[2] Of old through gates that closed on them Two exiles went with eyes downcast; The Present now retrieves the Past, God's Eden is in Bethlehem. An Eden that no walls enclose By Mary's arms encompassèd, A living shrine, a 'house of bread,' A very haven of repose. Behold the Prince of Peace! around His cradle angry tempests rage; He needs must go on pilgrimage, An exile, homeless and discrowned. And yet, His Rank to designate, The unquenched Star of Bethlehem Shines forth, a radiant diadem; While Angels on His footsteps wait. E'en now the Father's Face they see, A triumph-song e'en now they sing, And, wondering and worshipping, Attend His Pilgrim-Family. Two guard the frowning gateway: one Is of a solemn countenance; To him a rapid backward glance Reveals a massacre begun. The other, forward gazing, sees The glory of the age to come, The fruitfulness of martyrdom, Of deaths that are nativities. O weeping mothers, dry your tears! The Mother whom this canvass shows [Pg 10] [1] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] [Pg 13] Nor fears, nor weeps, although she knows An anguish deeper than your fears. She knows a comfort deeper still For all who fare on pilgrimage; By suffering from age to age God seals the vassals of His Will. Her Burden is upholding her; And, guided by the Holy Dove, She sees the victory of Love Beyond the Cross and Sepulchre. To shield her, Joseph stands: his care The shadow of God's Providence. How fragrant is the frankincense Of their uninterrupted prayer! Through ever-open gates they press, A new and living way they tread, So gain they the true 'House of Bread,' A garden for a wilderness. A flight it seems to us; to them It is a going forth to win The world from Satan and from sin, And build the New Jerusalem. Lord Christ! for every seeking soul Thou art Thyself the Door, the Way; All, all shall find one coming day Thy Heart their everlasting goal! Loch Leven: 1884. FOOTNOTES: See Note B, page 71. S. JOSEPH. A cloistered garden was the place Where Mary grew, God's perfect flower; One, only one, discerned her grace, And visited her bower. God's choice was his; by love made strong To guard the Mother of the King; No heart, save hers, had e'er a song So sweet as his to sing. Yet lives there on the sacred page No record of a word from him; God's Ark he guards, a silent sage, Pure as the Cherubim. But sweeter than the sweetest word [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [2] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] Recorded of the wise and good, His silence is a music heard On high, and understood. Blessed are all who take their part Amid the carol-singing throng; Thrice blest the meditative heart Whose silence is a song. Ballachulish: 1884. A CRADLE SONG. Sing, ye winds, and sing, ye waters, May the music of your song Silence all the dark forebodings That have plagued the world too long; He who made your voices tuneful Comes to right the wrong. Warble on, ye feathered songsters, Lift your praises loud and high, Merry lark, and thrush, and blackbird, In the grove and in the sky Make your music, shame our dumbness, Till we make reply. Children's laughter is a music Flowing from a hidden spring, Which, though men misdoubt its virtue, Well is worth discovering; Slowly dies the heart that knows not How to laugh and sing. Hark, a cradle-song! the Singer Is the Heart of God Most High; All sweet voices are the echoes That in varied tones reply To that Voice which through the ages Sings earth's lullaby. Oftentimes a sleepless infant For a season frets and cries: All at once an unseen finger Curtains up the little eyes. So the cradled child He nurses God will tranquillise. His the all-enfolding Presence; Oh, what tutelage it brings To the little lives that ripen 'Neath the shelter of its wings; God's delays are no denials, As He waits He sings! They alone are seers and singers Who invalidate despair [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] By the lofty hopes they cherish, By the gallant deeds they dare, By the ceaseless aspirations Of a life of prayer. Brothers, sisters, lift your voices, May the rapture of your song Put to flight the sad misgivings That have vexed the world too long; God would have us share the triumph That shall right the wrong. Loch Laggan: 1884. A CRADLED CHILD. (To E. A. G.) Behold! the world's inheritance, The treasure-trove of happy homes; Whereby the poorest hut becomes A fairy-palace of romance. A cradle is the mother's shrine: Two lamps o'erhang it—her sweet eyes, Whose love-light falls, Madonna-wise, On sleeping infancy divine. The presence of a 'holy thing,' Madonna-wise, her heart discerns, And like a fragrant censer burns, O'ershadowed by an angel's wing. Her brooding motherhood is strong; A trembling joy her bosom stirs, Her thoughts are white-robed worshippers, 'Magnificat' is all her song. 'Mid angels whispering 'all-hails' The waking moment she awaits, The opening of two pearly gates, The lifting of two silken veils. Ah! then, what words can tell the bliss, The rapture of the fond embrace, When mother's lips on baby's face, Feast and are feasted with a kiss? And who can tell of hands and feet The dimpled wonders, hidden charms, The dainty curves of legs and arms, So sweet and soft, so soft and sweet? This is the world's possession still, The treasure-trove of wedded hearts, Whereby a Father's love imparts His joy, their gladness to fulfil. [Pg 22] [Pg 23] [Pg 24] [Pg 25] Tyntesfield: 1884. AN EMPTY CRADLE. All empty stands a little cradle-bed, A mother's falling tears the only sound; But not of earth her thoughts, nor underground; Up-gazing she discerns the Fountain-head Of life; the living Voice she hears that said 'Fear not' to weeping women who had found An empty tomb, and angels watching round, Who asked 'Why seek the living with the dead?' So weeps our Mother Church—her tears outshine Sun-smitten dewdrops on a summer's morn; God's rainbow girdles her, Hope's lovely sign, Whereby she knows that smiles of tears are born; Fulfilled of life herself, she would assure Her children all of death's discomfiture. Carlisle: 1884. NEW YEAR'S EVE. God grant through coming years and days Our beating hearts may be The harps that celebrate His praise Who loves eternally! No ache can be without relief When Love Himself draws near; No cup can empty stand, no grief Embitter God's New Year. Time's footsteps quickly die away, Soon emptied is his glass; We wait for an oncoming Day Which nevermore shall pass. Old hopes revive, new hopes are born, The coming months to cheer; And phantom-fears and griefs outworn Die with the dying year. Oh, all the years and all the days Our waiting hearts shall be Harps tremulous with His dear praise Whose is Eternity! S. Barnabas': December 31, 1883. THE VICTIM. For the Feast of the Circumcision: New Year's Day. [Pg 26] [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] The sun methinks rose rosy-red On that great New Year's Day, When Blood was in the cradle shed Where Mary's Darling lay. The lark, uprising with the sun, Was silent on the wing; The nightingale, when day was done, Forgot her song to sing. A holy silence reigned around, And hushed was every voice, When in the crib the Cross was found, The Infant-Victim's choice. As moonbeam on a mountain-mere The Mother's face was white; Her eyes were stars, and every tear Gave lustre to their light. Methinks a blushing moon looked down Upon that manger-bed, And wove a mystic glory-crown Around the Sleeper's head. The silence issues in a song, It rises and it swells; E'en than the lark's more blithe and strong, Sweeter than Philomel's, His Church's anthem loud and long The Victim's triumph tells. THE DAYSMAN. In boyhood's sorrow-shadowed days, Which memory recalls to-day, In many moods and many ways, My yearning heart would pray. 'T was holy ground where'er I set My feet, God's shrine was everywhere; But this I scarcely knew as yet— Christ is His Father's Prayer.[3] God ever seeks His children's bliss, Appeals to them; and, rightly heard, The music of creation is The echo of His Word. But when the child has learnt his part, The echo is an answer strong; A prayer up-springing from the heart That blossoms in a song. Christ is the Living Word of God, His Poem and His Prophecy; The homeward way His Feet have trod [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] Mankind must travel by. And every man, God's child and priest, Is pledged to ministry divine, Who sees the Ruler of life's feast Turn water into wine; Who hears the Father's voice above, The Spirit's whispering within; Who knows the Messenger of love The Conqueror of sin. Responsive to God's call, our Prayer Art Thou, dear Lord, whene'er we pray; So always now, and everywhere, My heart keeps holiday. On the Danube: Feast of the Holy Name, 1883. FOOTNOTES: See Note C, page 72. THE PHYSICIAN. Is life sad for lost love's sake, Falls a blight upon thy bliss, Smiles no more their sunshine make, Lips estranged withhold their kiss? For thy consolation take Some such song as this:— Shine on us, O Morning Star! Help our weeping eyes to see; Never may we deem things are What to us they seem to be; Rise, Thou Dayspring, and afar Bid the shadows flee! Jesu, Thou art swift to bless, Strong to comfort, skilled to heal; Failure is with Thee success, Woe the forerunner of weal; Every stroke is a caress, Every crust a meal. Master, Thou canst raise the dead From the grave, the bed, the bier,[4] Souls astray, forlorn, misled, Buffeted by doubt and fear, Cannot but be comforted When Thou drawest near. Sweeter than the Sunday-bells Banishing all week-day cares, Thine the gracious voice that tells [Pg 35] [Pg 36] [3] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] What a Father's love prepares, Leading to salvation's wells Up God's altar-stairs. Lord, Thou art the Master-singer, And Thy song is a recall; Many on life's pathway linger, Many by life's wayside fall, But Thy Heart, the comfort-bringer, Is a Home for all! Tyrol: 1882. FOOTNOTES: S. John xi. 43; S. Matt. ix. 25; S. Luke vii. 14. THE POET. The poet is the child of God, Who with anointed eye Discerns a sacrament of love In earth and sea and sky, And finds himself at love's behest Constrained to prophesy. Love is of loveliness the root, Love is of life the spring, Love is the sole interpreter Of every lovely thing: This is the burden of his song, Well may the poet sing! A joy-inspirèd song he sings Because far off he hears A whisper silencing the storm, A laughter through the tears, The music of eternity Beyond the dying years. His song is rapture, for he sees God's loveliness, and we, When with his insight we are blest, Shall share his ecstasy; Oh, come the day when all shall sing As blithe a song as he! Lord Christ, Thou art the King of Love, Thou art the Poet true; The men who would Thy vision share Must learn Thy works to do, All, all shall have the singing heart Whose feet Thy steps pursue! Pitz Ortler: 1882. [Pg 39] [4] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] [Pg 42] THREE SISTERS.[5] Three fountains clear as crystal spring In one secluded garden-plot; In shade and shelter of one cot Three sister-doves are harbouring. Adown one pathway hand in hand Three Sister-Graces wend their way; I shall not soon forget the day I met with them in fairy land. They dawned, I know not how or whence: A halo circling round the head Of each, whereby transfigurèd They clomb the hill of frankincense. I know not whence or how, they bloomed: Each sweeter than the sweetest rose That in the haunted garden grows Where burns the bush still unconsumed. And one is like a rising sun When dewy Morn unveils her eyes; And one is as Minerva wise; And very lily-like is one. And all are dear. I seem to see The weaving of a threefold cord— To hear a softly whispered word, 'Love makes a unity of three.' FOOTNOTES: See Note D, page 74. A CHRISTMAS PUZZLE. (For Grown-up Children.) Children know the things I know not, Though they know not that they know; I should know not, should love grow not, That I know not it is so. Flowers feebly rooted blow not, Shallow waters overflow not, Love is doomed unless it grow. Fools who think to reap and sow not Growing love will overthrow; Churls who say 'We go' and go not Love's rebuke must undergo; All who love's insignia show not, Who on love themselves bestow not, Love, full grown, shall lay them low. [Pg 43] [Pg 44] [Pg 45] [5] [Pg 46] [Pg 47] FOUR EPIPHANIES.[6] I. The Pilgrim-Kings their King have found, The Wise Men kneel at Wisdom's shrine, Their royal gifts His Crib surround, He gives them bread and wine. One Star has pointed to the Sun, That men may see and understand The witness borne by all to One, Who holds in His Right Hand, Like lamps that round an altar burn, All lights that shine, all worlds that be Crowned are the men whose hearts discern Their King's Epiphany. II. The Child obedient sets His face To seek His Father's House of Prayer, With other children takes His place, And is a learner there. Two worlds there are; the child to each Belongs, God's prophet, born to bless; But not by action, nor by speech, Simply by winsomeness. For, like the Child of Bethlehem, Babes bring their blessing from afar, Enriching all who wait on them By being what they are. III. A voice from heaven spake aloud, Heard clearly by the Bridegroom's friend When, shadowed by the glory-cloud, He saw the Dove descend. One Voice has heralded the Word, That listening men may truly know What mean all voices they have heard Above, around, below— Soft whisperings and laughters loud, The song of birds, the insects' hum, Storm-music of the thunder-cloud— And be no longer dumb. IV. That jubilance of bridal mirth, First felt at Cana, has not ceased; Christ's Presence still regales the earth, [Pg 48] [Pg 49] [Pg 50] [Pg 51] [Pg 52] [Pg 53] [Pg 54]