Nanny's Christmas Cards: Three Kings

THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE by Eugene Field

From out Cologne there came three kings

To worship Jesus Christ, their King.

To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,

And many a beauteous golden thing;

They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,

And in that manger set them down.

Then spake the first king, and he said:

"O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!

I bring this crown to Bethlehem town

For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;

So give a heavenly crown to me

When I shall come at last to Thee!"

The second, then. "I bring Thee here

This royal robe, O Child!" he cried;

"Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one

There is not in the world beside;

So in the day of doom requite

Me with a heavenly robe of white!"

The third king gave his gift, and quoth:

"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,

And with these twain would I most fain

Anoint the body of my King;

So may their incense sometimes rise

And plead for me in yonder skies!"

Thus spake the three kings of Cologne,

That gave their gifts, and went their way;

And now kneel I in prayer hard by

The cradle of the Child to-day;

Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring

As offering unto Christ, my King.

Yet have I brought a gift the Child

May not despise, however small;

For here I lay my heart to-day,

And it is full of love to all.

Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,

My only tribute, Christ, my King!

Eugene Field (1850-1895) was an American poet and journalist, most famous for his poems about childhood, such as "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod" and "The Duel." Cologne (or Koln) was the cathedral city in Germany where the reputed remains of the Three Kings are said to be housed.

Well, So That Is That: Poems

Well, So That Is That



Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree.

Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes--

Some have got broken--and carrying them up to the attic.

The holly and mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,

And the children got ready for school. There are enough

Left-overs to do, warmed up, for the rest of the week--

Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,

Stayed up so late, attempted--quite unsuccessfully--

To love all our relatives, and in general

Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again,

As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed

To do more than entertain it as an agreeable

Possibility, once again we have sent Him away

Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,

The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.



--W. H. Auden.





For the past couple of days we have been dismantling the effects of Christmas and putting them away; a rather time-consuming task around here, but necessary to be done quickly, I think. They've been up since shortly after Thanksgiving, and nothing seems more melancholy than trees and decorations lingering after their purpose is done. Although I only bought a couple of stocking holders and a small pair of decorative deer, I now seem to require another storage tub, as everything refuses to pack back neatly as it was. Some people leave stuff up till after New Year; in parts of England all decorations, especially in churches, had to be taken down by February 2 (Candlemas) and all mistletoe, holly, and evergreens burned (it was considered bad luck if any of that stuff remained in private homes after that date, especially mistletoe).

Christmas Season Rhymes

God bless the master of this house,
The mistress bless also,
And all the little children
That round the table go;
And all your kin and kinsmen,
That dwell both far and near.
I wish you a merry Christmas
And a happy new year.

***

Bounce buckram, velvet's dear,
Christmas comes but once a year;
And when it comes, it brings good cheer,
But when it's gone, it's never near.

***

Ah, too true.

The Answer: My Poems

THE ANSWER

Sunlight may turn drops of dust to gold;
One red drop of blood can crimson waters pale:
Like alchemic transformations worked of old
Concentric rings spread from redemption's tale.

Redemption spreads; Saul turns into Paul,
And churches stand where pagan temples stood.
The church fathers hew down druid woods
And what was heathen consecrate to good.

Christ shall hold all men and custom yet;
No good will fall useless by the way.
Claus is a saint, caught in Peter's net,
And wise men still bring gifts on Christmas Day.


Every Christmas some newspaper or TV show points out the scandalous fact that Christmas has-gasp!-pagan origins. Well, duh. We were all pagans once; we dwelt on the heath with the heathens. The fact that early Christians preserved what was good and pleasant about the old religions (bonfires and decorated trees, no human sacrifice, please) and re-dedicated them to Christ seems no drawback or hypocrisy to me. So I wrote this poem.