All green things but these have hid Their heads, or died in melancholy, Winter’s spite them all has rid Save only ivy and brave holly. Give them place In all men’s sight For Christë’s grace that’s born to-night. Baby eyes are pleased to see Bright red berries and children jolly, So shout and dance and sing with glee, And honour ivy and prickly holly. Honour courage And make delight For Christë’s sake that’s born to-night. Christus natus hodie! Drink deep of joy on Christmas Day, Join hands and sing a roundelay, For this is Christ’s and children’s day, Christus natus hodie! Hodie! STRANGE SERVICE LITTLE did I dream, England, that you bore me Under the Cotswold hills beside the water meadows, To do you dreadful service, here, beyond your borders And your enfolding seas. I was a dreamer ever, and bound to your dear service, Meditating deep, I thought on your secret beauty, As through a child’s face one may see the clear spirit Miraculously shining. Your hills not only hills, but friends of mine and kindly, Your tiny knolls and orchards hidden beside the river Muddy and strongly-flowing, with shy and tiny streamlets Safe in its bosom. Now these are memories only, and your skies and rushy sky-pools Fragile mirrors easily broken by moving airs.... In my deep heart for ever goes on your daily being, And uses consecrate. Think on me too, O Mother, who wrest my soul to serve you In strange and fearful ways beyond your encircling waters; None but you can know my heart, its tears and sacrifice; None, but you, repay. SERENITY NOR steel nor flame has any power on me, Save that its malice work the Almighty Will, Nor steel nor flame has any power on me; Through tempests of hell-fire I must go free And unafraid; so I remember still Nor steel nor flame has any power on me, Save that its malice work the Almighty Will. THE SIGNALLER’S VISION ONE rainy winter dusk Mending a parted cable, Sudden I saw so clear Home and the tea-table. So clear it was, so sweet, I did not start, but drew The breath of deep content Some minutes ere I knew My Mother’s face that’s soother Than autumn half-lights kind, My softly smiling sisters Who keep me still in mind, Were but a dream, a vision-- That faded. And I knew The smell of trench, trench-feeling-- And turned to work anew. THE MOTHER WE scar the earth with dreadful engin’ry; She takes us to her bosom at the last; Hiding our hate with love, who cannot see Of any child the faults; and holds us fast. We’ll wait in quiet till our passion’s past. TO ENGLAND--A NOTE