Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE NEW CHRISTMAS, by EDITH BLAND NESBIT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE NEW CHRISTMAS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the good old days, in the spacious days, when the christmas
Last Line: As the snow a man shakes from his shoulders as he comes to his own front gate.
Alternate Author Name(s): Nesbit, E.; Bland, Mrs. Hubert
Subject(s): Christmas; Earth; Snow; Socialism; Nativity, The; World


IN the good old days, in the spacious days, when the Christmas feast began,
There was good clean air between house and house, and good faith between man and
man;
To the lonely houses the men came home, and the doors were strong and stout
To shut a man and his friend folk in and to shut the foeman out.

They came from the swirl of the Spanish sea, from the clash of the Picard spear,
To eat once more of English beef, to drink of the English beer;
And the hate of the world lay light at their backs as the touch of the falling
snow,
And strong as ice were the bonds of blood in the days of long ago.

The hall was hung with holly and yew fresh cut from the woods near by;
The long mince pies were baked in the shape of the cradle where Christ did lie;
And knee to knee, at the rough hewn board, sat the men who must fight and roam,
And the men who must tend the good home stock and plough the good fields of
home.

They drank their ale from the mazer bowl, they drank from the ten-hoop pot,
From the silver cup with the rose-wrought edge and the legend, "Forget me not;"
They drank to their king, they drank to their love, to their kinsmen far away
In the lonely houses where, each with his own, men feasted on Christmas Day.

. . . . . . . .

Now the snow is trampled by million feet, the world is lighted and loud,
And Christmas comes to a hurried host of neighborless men in a crowd;
And round are the mince pies sold in the shops, and the holly and yew tree bough
And the beef and the beer and the Christmas cheer are brought by the tradesfolk
now.

The wind no more between house and house blows free and freezing and sweet;
The houses are numbered all in a row and squeezed in a narrow street.
We know not the breed of our Christmas beef nor the brew of our Christmas beer,
Yet we sit round a table and call our toast — though it come but once a
year.

For the wind outside is still the wind that blows from the conquered sea,
And the folks that hate us are still without, as God send they may always be;
And we still make cheer in the English home, and its walls are strong and stout
—
The walls of steel that keep England safe and that keep the nations out.

So here's to our queen and here's to our love and our kinsmen on Christmas day.
Though their lonely houses lie east and west and southward far away,
Each scattered house of our empire is strong as the world is wide,
To keep the foes of the English out and the English safe inside.

So may each of our kin at Christmas time still keep good Christmas cheer
And drink to his brother far away, though it be but once a year;
For strong as ice is the bond of blood and light is the whole world's hate
As the snow a man shakes from his shoulders as he comes to his own front gate.





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