A Book of Christmas Verse

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Henry Charles Beeching
H. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1926 - Carols - 200 pages
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Page 99 - HARK, the glad sound ! the Saviour comes ! The Saviour promised long ! Let every heart prepare a throne, And every voice a song.
Page 63 - Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.
Page 60 - THIS is the month ; and this, the happy Morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, Of wedded Maid, and virgin Mother born, Our great Redemption from above did bring. For so, the holy Sages once did sing, That he, our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father, work us a perpetual peace.
Page 100 - Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled ! " Joyful, all ye nations, rise, Join the triumph of the skies ; With the angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem.
Page 65 - For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
Page 65 - Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so, And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow ; And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Page 64 - tis said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set And the well-balanced world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.
Page 66 - With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
Page 95 - Fear not," said he — for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind ; ' ' Glad tidings of great joy I bring, To you and all mankind.
Page 66 - The Oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

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