Friday, December 24th, 2010
By John Masefield
A wind is rustling ‘south and soft,’
Cooing a quiet country tune,
The calm sea sighs, and far aloft
The sails are ghostly in the moon.
Unquiet ripples lisp and purr,
A block there pipes and chirps i’ the sheave,
The wheel-ropes jar, the reef-points stir
Faintly – and it is Christmas Eve.
The hushed sea seems to hold her breath,
And o’er the giddy, swaying spars,
Silent and excellent as Death,
The dim blue skies are bright with stars.
Dear God -they shone in Palestine
Like this, and yon pale moon serene
Looked down among the lowing kine
On Mary and Nazarene.
The angels called from deep to deep.
The burning heavens felt the thrill,
Startling the flocks of silly sheep
And lonely shepherds on the hill.
To-night beneath the dripping bows
Where flashing bubbles burst and throng,
The bow-wash murmers and sighs and soughs
A message from the angel’s song.
The moon goes nodding down the west,
The drowsy helmsman strikes the bell;
Rex Judpoeorum natus est,
I charge you, brothers, sing Nowell,
Rex Judoeorum natus est.