Avril at Romsey

… and Lancefield and Riddells Creek and Mount Macedon

Looking for Christmas poems

So, I’ve got two Services of Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve, and I thought that as well as Bible readings the “lessons” could include poetry. So far I’ve chosen “First Coming” by Madeleine L’Engle and “Christmas Eve” by Thom M Shuman. Could I have suggestions of other poems I could include?

Merci beaucoup, mes amies.

December 4, 2007 - Posted by avrilhj | Ministry | | 5 Comments

5 Comments »

  1. Try emailing mum, she has an entire book of poetry about Christmas – some of its not too awful and sappy either.

    Comment by Veryan | December 5, 2007 | Reply

  2. Dashing through the bush
    In a rusty Holden Ute
    Kicking up the dust
    Esky in the boot
    Kelpie by my side
    Singing Christmas songs
    It’s summer time and I am in
    My singlet, shorts & thongs

    CHORUS:
    OH, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS
    JINGLE ALL THE WAY
    CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRALIA
    ON A SCORCHING SUMMER’S DAY
    JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS
    CHRISTMAS TIME IS BEAUT
    OH WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIDE
    IN A RUSTY HOLDEN UTE

    Engine’s getting hot
    Dodge the kangaroos
    Swaggy climbs aboard
    He is welcome too
    All the family’s there
    Sitting by the pool
    Christmas day, the Aussie way
    By the barbecue!

    CHORUS

    Come the afternoon
    Grandpa has a doze
    The kids and uncle Bruce
    Are swimming in their clothes
    The time comes round to go
    We take a family snap
    Then pack the car and all shoot through
    Before the washing up

    CHORUS

    Comment by Olivia | December 6, 2007 | Reply

  3. first coming?

    Comment by Alex | December 6, 2007 | Reply

  4. Hi Avril (and all)

    If you’re prepared to venture into the realm of epiphany for a lessons and carols service, Elliot has always been a favorite of mine, but often regarded as too harsh or depressing for lessons and carols services.

    The Journey of the Magi

    “A cold coming we had of it,
    Just the worst time of the year
    For a journey, and such a long journey:
    The snow was deep and the weather sharp,
    The very dead of winter.”
    And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
    Lying down in the melting snow.
    There were times we regretted
    The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
    And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
    Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
    And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
    And the night-fires gong out, and the lack of shelters,
    And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
    And the villages dirty, and charging high prices.:
    A hard time we had of it.
    At the end we preferred to travel all night,
    Sleeping in snatches,
    With the voices singing in our ears, saying
    That this was all folly.

    Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
    Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
    With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
    And three trees on the low sky,
    And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
    Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
    Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
    And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
    But there was no information, and so we continued
    And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
    Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

    All this was a long time ago, I remember,
    And I would do it again, but set down
    This set down
    This: were we lead all that way for
    Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
    We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,
    But had thought they were different; this Birth was
    Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
    We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
    But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
    With an alien people clutching their gods.
    I should be glad of another death.

    Comment by Morag Logan | December 7, 2007 | Reply

  5. Hardy, The Oxen

    Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
    “Now they are all on their knees,”
    An elder said as we sat in a flock
    By the embers in hearthside ease.

    We pictured the meek mild creatures where
    They dwelt in their strawy pen.
    Nor did it occur to one of us there
    To doubt they were kneeling then.

    So fair a fancy few believe
    In these years! Yet, I feel,
    If someone said on Christmas Eve
    “Come; see the oxen kneel

    “In the lonely barton by yonder comb
    Our childhood used to know,”
    I should go with him in the gloom,
    Hoping it might be so.

    Comment by Alex | December 7, 2007 | Reply


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