A Christmas Carol

Poem By Charles Kingsley

It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve,
I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary-
'Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave,
And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery.
How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again?
Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary
The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain,
Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery.'

Then arose a joyous clamour from the wild-fowl on the mere,
Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing,
And a voice within cried-'Listen!-Christmas carols even here!
Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the stars and snows are singing.
Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through
With the thunder of my judgments even now are ringing.
Do thou fulfil thy work but as yon wild-fowl do,
Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing.'


Eversley, 1849.

Comments about A Christmas Carol

A joyous clamour arose from the wild-fowl on the mere and snow gave a clear reflection. An amazing poem is brilliantly penned with broadness of expression. This has deep and great imagery....10
Hope triumphs over listlessness and bitterness- a message we need in everyday life
Amazing! ! Lovely! ! Divine! ! Surely a sing-along Christmas Carol. A real tribute to the fervor. How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again? The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain,
A sweet Christmas carol. Enjoyed.
Amazing Christmas Carol. Thanks for sharing. Merry Christmas to PH fraternity.


Rating Card

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Other poems of KINGSLEY

A Farewell

I

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey:

Child Ballad

Jesus, He loves one and all,
Jesus, He loves children small,
Their souls are waiting round His feet
On high, before His mercy-seat.

Easter Week

See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.

Airly Beacon

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
Oh, the pleasant sight to see
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,
While my love climbed up to me!

Alton Locke's Song

Weep, weep, weep and weep,
For pauper, dolt, and slave!
Hark! from wasted moor and fen,

Elegiacs

Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.