At the Turning of the YearAn anthology of poetry to mark the Christmas season |
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The Ending of the YearWhen trees did show no leavesAnd grass no daisies had, And fields had lost their sheaves, And streams in ice were clad, And day of light was shorn, And wind had got a spear, Jesus Christ was born In the ending of the year. Like green leaves when they grow, Like daisies to the grass, Eleanor Farjeon |
Singing in the StreetsI had almost forgotten the singing in the streets,Snow piled up by the houses, drifting Underneath the door into the warm room, Firelight, lamplight, the little lame cat Dreaming in soft sleep on the hearth, mother dozing, Waiting for Christmas to come, the boys and me Trudging over blanket fields waving lanterns to the sky. I had almost forgotten the smell, the feel of it all, The coming back home, with girls laughing like stars, Their cheeks, holly berries, me kissing one, Silent-tongued, soberly, by the long church wall; Then back to the kitchen table, supper on the white cloth, Cheese, bread, the home-made wine: Symbols of the Night`s joy, a holy feast. And I wonder now, years gone, mother gone, Leonard Clark With permission from the literary executor of
Leonard Clark
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The turning year brings Christmastide to greet a
waiting world, To other ears the Christmas bells toll out a
different sound, Yet still the ancient Truth is shown to those
with eyes to see: Chris Price |
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Welsh New Year CarolNow the joyful bells a-ringing,All ye mountains praise the Lord! Lift our hearts, like birds a-winging, All ye mountains praise the Lord! Now our festal season, bringing Kinsmen all to bide and board. Sets our cheery voices singing: All ye mountains praise the Lord! Dear our home as dear none other, Cold the year, new whiteness wearing, |
And 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 out 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.'
from `The Desert ‘ by Minnie
Louise Haskins.
Quoted by King George VI in his Christmas
Day broadcast, 1939.