Bidding Christmas Goodbye: Two Carols (One Sung, One Recited) for Candlemas Eve

Whereas in our present age it’s common for families to take down their Christmas decorations on Twelfth Night (January 5) or Epiphany (January 6)—and many American Christians do so even sooner—in medieval Europe they typically stayed up through Candlemas on February 2, or were removed the evening before. Yes, Christmas was celebrated for forty days in the Middle Ages! Why that span? Because forty days after his birth, the infant Christ was presented in the temple according to Jewish custom and inspired the famous song of Simeon about finally getting to see God’s salvation and glory. The feast of Candlemas commemorates this event each year, which many medieval worshipping communities regarded as the bookend of the Christmas season.

In her book Winters in the World: A Journey through the Anglo-Saxon Year, Eleanor Parker notes that Candlemas is the last feast of winter and the first feast of spring—a transitional festival that looks back to Christmas and forward to Easter (86). The date coincides with a significant point in the solar year: midway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Read more in an UnHerd article by Parker, “Light a candle; spring is coming.”

So as we celebrate Candlemas this Friday, we bid farewell to Christmas and prepare to welcome Lent. The Chorus of Westerly models a respectful send-off in a video they released in January 2021, combining a choral performance of the “Candlemas Eve Carol” with a recitation by James Lawson of “Now Have Good Day”—both texts from early modern England.

The text of the first carol, originally published with the title “Ceremonies for Candlemasse Eve,” is by the poet-priest Robert Herrick (1591–1674), and the tune is traditional, collected from an old church gallery book; the two appear together in The English Carol Book (Second Series) (1923), edited by Martin Shaw and Percy Dearmer. The Chorus of Westerly sings the first two stanzas and refrain:

Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the mistletoe;
Instead of holly, now upraise
The greener box (for show).

The holly hitherto did sway;
Let box now domineer
Until the dancing Easter day,
Or Easter’s eve appear.

Thus times do shift; each thing his turn does hold;
New things succeed, as former things grow old.

(Update, 12/31/25: I just learned that Kate Rusby sings this text, to an original tune, on her 2008 album Sweet Bells.)

Herrick describes the English family tradition of taking down the Christmas greens—rosemary, bay, mistletoe, holly—on Candlemas Eve, replacing them with boxwood, which would stay up for the duration of Lent.

Burning the Christmas Greens
“Burning the Christmas Greens,” uncredited illustration from the January 29, 1876, edition of Harper’s Weekly

The remaining three stanzas move through the rest of the church year, associating yew with Easter, birch with Pentecost, and rushes and oak with Ordinary Time. The changing of seasonal decorations becomes for Herrick an emblem of the transience of life.

As the choir hums wistfully on, Father Christmas appears, giving this speech (the bracketed annotations are by Eleanor Parker):

Now have good day, now have good day!
I am Christmas, but now I go my way.

Here have I dwelt with more and less [i.e., everyone]
From Hallowtide till Candlemas,
And now I must from you hence pass;
Now have good day!

I take my leave of king and knight,
Earl and baron, and lady bright;
To wilderness I must me dight; [I must prepare myself to go into the wilderness]
Now have good day!

And of the good lord of this hall
I take my leave, and of guests all;
Methinks I hear that Lent doth call;
Now have good day!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Another year I trust I shall
Make merry in this hall,
If rest and peace in our fair land may fall;
Now have good day!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now fare ye well, all in fere; [together]
Now fare ye well for all this year;
Yet for my sake make ye good cheer;
Now have good day!

This sixteenth-century carol is compiled in the commonplace book of the London merchant Richard Hill (Oxford, Balliol College MS 354).

Roundup: Upcoming conferences, “Rupture as Invitation,” and more

UPCOMING CONFERENCES:

>> Calvin Symposium on Worship, February 7–9, 2024, Calvin University, Grand Rapids, MI: I’ve promoted this event in years past—see, e.g., here and here—and am excited to be attending again this year! I’ll be coleading a breakout session with Joel Littlepage and Ashley Williams about our work at the Daily Prayer Project, curating textual, visual, and musical resources from across time and place to encourage a life of prayer that reflects the church’s beautiful diversity. There are plenty of other sessions being offered as well; a few that stand out to me are “Blues: The Art of Lament” with Ruth Naomi Floyd (she’s also leading a Jazz Vespers service), “Music, Architecture, and the Arts: Early Christian Worship Practices” with Vince Bantu [previously], and “The First Nations Version New Testament and Its Impact on Worship” with Terry Wildman. This is in addition to what is probably my favorite part: the multiple worship services, led by liturgists, preachers, and musicians from different denominations and cultural backgrounds. I love my local church community, but I also love worshipping with folks from outside it—a reminder that the church is far broader than what I’m used to on a weekly basis.

>> “Poetry and Theology: 1800–Present,” February 22–24, 2024, Duke University, Durham, NC: Supported in part by Duke Initiatives in Theology and the Arts, next month Duke is hosting a poetry symposium that’s free and open to the public! The speakers are Lisa Russ Spaar, Judith Wolfe, Toby Martinez de las Rivas, Thomas Pfau, Kevin Hart, Anne M. Carpenter, Ian Cooper, Anthony Domestico, Luke Fischer, Dante Micheaux, Łukasz Tischner, and Bernadette Waterman Ward. Papers are on the poetry of Hopkins, Eliot, Rilke, Miłosz, and more.

>> “Return to Narnia: Creativity, Collaboration, and Community” (Square Halo Books), March 8–9, 2024, Lancaster, PA: Organized by book publisher, author, illustrator, printmaker, and gallerist Ned Bustard, this year’s Square Halo conference will feature author Matthew Dickerson as its keynote speaker and Sarah Sparks as its musical guest, along with various breakout session leaders, such as Brian Brown of the Anselm Society and Stephen Roach of the Makers & Mystics podcast. Tickets are $210 if purchased in advance or $220 at the door.

>> The Breath and the Clay, March 22–24, 2024, Awake Church, Winston-Salem, NC: Organized by Stephen Roach and friends, this annual creative arts gathering aims to foster community and connection around the pursuit of truth, beauty, and goodness, providing opportunities for immersive encounters and kindling for the imagination. There will be main-room sessions, workshops, a juried art exhibition (entry deadline: February 16), a poetry slam and songwriters’ round, a panel discussion on reconciling artists and the church, concerts, a dance performance, a short film screening, and more. Musical artists include Victory Boyd, John Mark McMillan, Young Oceans, and Lowland Hum, and among the keynote speakers are Rachel Marie Kang, Mary McCampbell, Junius Johnson, Vesper Stamper, and Justin McRoberts. I appreciate the bringing together of various artistic disciplines and the emphasis on practice. For tickets, there are both virtual ($99) and in-person ($299) options.

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NEW SONG: “MLK Blessing” by the Porter’s Gate: Written by Paul Zach and IAMSON (Orlando Palmer) and just released for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, this song is based on a benediction that MLK prayed, a variant of the ancient Jewish benediction known as the Birkat Kohahim or Aaronic blessing (Num. 6:24–26). It’s sung by Liz Vice and Paul Zach.

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PAST LECTURE: “Rupture as Invitation: Generosity and Contemporary Art” by Elissa Yukiko Weichbrodt: I’ve mentioned Elissa several times on the blog—I find her work so illuminating—and was grateful to have her in town last fall to deliver a lecture for the Eliot Society. “Contemporary art can often be unexpected or downright unsettling in its form and subject matter. But what if we reframed our discomfort as an invitation to enter rather than an unbridgeable divide? In this lecture from November 11, 2023, Dr. Elissa Yukiko Weichbrodt demonstrates how approaching contemporary art with humility, love, and courage can be a powerful means of growing in love for our neighbors.”

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UPCOMING EVENT: “Why Should Christians Care About Abstract Art?” with Elissa Yukiko Weichbrodt and Jonathan Anderson, February 22, 2024, Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary–Charlotte, NC: Hosted by the Leighton Ford Initiative for Art, Theology, and Gospel Witness, this evening will consist of an opening of the exhibition Alfred Manessier: Composer in Colors (on display through April 30) and dessert reception, lectures by Elissa Yukiko Weichbrodt and Jonathan Anderson, and a Q&A. “For some people of faith, abstract art is difficult to engage because the meaning remains unclear, and the form can appear chaotic or uncompelling. For others, abstract art is an invitation to engage the whole person, contemplate spiritual realities, and encounter God in transformative ways. If abstract art can facilitate the latter, then Christians have a unique opportunity to learn and care about abstract art for theological, practical, missional, and relational reasons. This event is a unique opportunity to experience abstract art, learn about abstract art, and have formative interaction with one another on this topic.” The cost is just $10, and there is an online option.

Manessier, Alfred_Mount Calvary
Alfred Manessier (French, 1911–1993), La montée au Calvaire (Mount Calvary), from the Suite de Pâques (Easter Series), 1978. Chromolithograph on Arches paper, 22 × 29 9/10 in. (56 × 76 cm). Edition of 99.

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BOOK REVIEW: “Religion’s Understated Influence on Modern Art” by Daniel Larkin, on Spiritual Moderns: Twentieth-Century American Artists and Religion by Erika Doss: Challenging the presumed secularity of modern art, the new book Spiritual Moderns centers on four iconic American artists who were both modern and religious: Andy Warhol, Mark Tobey, Agnes Pelton, and Joseph Cornell.

+ ROUNDTABLE DISCUSSION: Also responding to this publication: the Association of Scholars of Christianity in the History of Art (ASCHA) will be presenting a session at the College Art Association Annual Conference in Chicago on February 16 at 2:30 p.m. that will put four prominent scholars—Stephen S. Bush, Matthew J. Milliner, Robert Weinberg, and Gilbert Vicario—in dialogue with Doss to “explore the assumptions, motivations, and insights of [her] analysis, and consider a more open, inclusive, and diverse reading of American Modernism.”

“The Rev. Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch” by Kathleen A. Wakefield (poem)

Raeburn, Henry_The Skating Minister
Sir Henry Raeburn (Scottish, 1756–1823), Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch, aka The Skating Minister, ca. 1795. Oil on canvas, 76.2 × 63.5 cm. National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh. Robert Walker (1755–1808) was senior minister at the Canongate Kirk, a prominent abolitionist, and a member of the Edinburgh Skating Society.

        Portrait in oil, Sir Henry Raeburn, c. 1795

I’d like to think it’s late Saturday afternoon, sky on fire,
sermon finished, and he’s happy to be skating
alone, the village children gathered in for early supper and bed.
Then again, this might be a method of composing
just shy of dancing’s pleasure.

Dressed in black skates with red laces,
black leggings and coat, wide-brimmed black top hat
tipped back from flushed cheeks and pointed nose,
he cuts a fine figure against the green ice,
one leg swept up behind him, arms folded across his chest.

Drawn, it seems, by his steady gaze, does he lean
toward thoughts of the heaven he hopes for,
or the house ahead and his supper?
He’ll stay out there as long as he can.

This poem is from Grip, Give and Sway by Kathleen A. Wakefield (Los Angeles: Silver Birch, 2016).

Kathleen A. Wakefield (born 1954) is the author of two books of poetry: the prize-winning Notations on the Visible World (Anhinga, 2000) and Grip, Give and Sway (Silver Birch, 2016). She was a recipient of the University of Rochester Lillian Fairchild Award and has received grants from the New York State Foundation for the Arts, the Constance Saltonstall Foundation, and Mount Holyoke College. She taught creative writing at the Eastman School of Music and the University of Rochester and has worked as a poet-in-the-schools. She is also a singer, mainly of sacred and classical music.

“The Tower of Mothers” by Evelyn Bence (poem)

Kollwitz, Kathe_Tower of Mothers
Käthe Kollwitz (German, 1867–1945), Turm der Mütter (Tower of Mothers), 1937–38. Bronze, 27.9 × 27.4 × 28.8 cm. Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto. Photo: Craig Boyko / AGO. Kollwitz lost her son in World War I, and much of her work from then on grappled with the horror of that loss or expressed antiwar resistance.

  a sculpture by Käthe Kollwitz

Five Bethlehem women close ranks
to shield sons with hip and hide.
“We will rest in the peace of His hands
before your swords pierce a child.
Spare them or shower us with spears.
Let our blood disarm you, rout you,
haunt you, cowering through nights
that smother your sleep.”
A bosom is no breastplate,
a skirt no fortress wall.
As futile as Babel
the tower falls in,
life upon life.
Death seizes all.

This poem was originally published in The Windhover: A Journal of Christian Literature, vol. 3 (Spring 1999). Used by permission of the author.

Evelyn Bence (born 1952) is a writer and editor living in Arlington, Virginia. She is the author of Room at My Table; Prayers for Girlfriends and Sisters and Me; Spiritual Moments with the Great Hymns; and the award-winning Mary’s Journal, a novel written in the voice of Jesus’s mother. She has served as religion editor at Doubleday, managing editor for Today’s Christian Woman, and senior editor at Prison Fellowship Ministries. Her personal essays, poems, and devotional reflections have appeared in various publications.

“Christmas” by Adeline Dutton Train Whitney (poem)

Herbert, Albert_Nativity with Burning Bush
Albert Herbert (British, 1925–2008), Nativity with Burning Bush, 1991. Oil on board, 27.9 × 35.6 cm. Private collection. Photo courtesy of England & Co., London / Bridgeman Images. © Estate of Albert Herbert.

            What is the Christ of God?
It is his touch, his sign, his making known,
His coming forth from out the all-alone,
            The stretching of a rod,

            Abloom with his intent,
From the invisible. He made worlds so:
And souls, whose endless life should be to know
            What the worlds meant.

            Christ is the dear “I am,”
The voice that the cool garden-stillness brake.—
The human heart to human hearts that spake,
            Long before Abraham.

            The word, the thought, the breath,—
All chrism of God that in creation lay,—
Was born unto a life and name this day;
            Jesus of Nazareth!

            With man whom he had made
God came down side by side. Not from the skies
In thunders, but through brother lips and eyes,
            His messages he said.

            Close to our sin he leant,
Whispering, “Be clean!” The high, the awful-holy,—
Utterly meek,—ah! infinitely lowly,—
            Unto our burden bent

            The might it waited for.
“Daughter, be comforted. Thou art made whole.
Son, be forgiven through all thy guilty soul.
            Sin—suffer ye—no more!

            “O dumb, deaf, blind, receive!
Shall he who shaped the ear not hear your cry?
Doth he not tenderly see, who made the eye?
            Ask me, that I may give!

            “O Bethany and Nain!
I show your hearts how safe they are with me.
I reach into my deep eternity
            And bring your dead again!

            “My kingdom cometh nigh.
Look up, and see the lightning from afar.
Over my Bethlehem behold the star
            Quickening the eastward sky!

            “From end to end, always,
The same Lord, I am with you. Down the night,
My visible steps make all the mystery bright.
            Lo! it is Christmas-day!”

This poem was originally published in Pansies: “…for Thoughts” by Adeline T. Whitney (London: Strahan & Co., 1872) and is in the public domain.

Adeline Dutton Train Whitney (1824–1906) was an American writer of poems and juvenile fiction, living in Massachusetts.

Christ as Sun, Bridegroom, and Runner: Psalm 19, Revelation 12, and Advent

“Glory Glory / Psalm 19” by Daniel Berrigan

The heavens bespeak the glory of God.
The firmament ablaze, a text of his works.
Dawn whispers to sunset.
Dark to dark the word passes: glory glory.

All in a great silence,
no tongue’s clamor—
yet the web of the world trembles
conscious, as of great winds passing.

The bridegroom’s tent is raised,
a cry goes up: He comes! a radiant sun
rejoicing, presiding, his wedding day.
From end to end of the universe his progress.
No creature, no least being but catches fire from him.

This paraphrase of Psalm 19:1–6 by Daniel Berrigan is from Uncommon Prayer: A Book of Psalms (University of Michigan Press, 1978; Orbis, 1998). Used by permission of the Daniel Berrigan Literary Trust. www.danielberrigan.org


The first section of Psalm 19 is about how the natural world declares the glories of its Maker. The night sky, the psalmist describes, is like a tent that spreads its cover over the sun, parting open every morning to release it on the world. The sun is compared to a bright-eyed, handsome, and happy bridegroom emerging from his chamber, and to a vigorous runner who tracks a massive course.

I like to read Psalm 19:1–6 for Advent, especially the poet-priest Fr. Daniel Berrigan’s paraphrase of it, as his use of he/him/his pronouns instead of it/its draws out a Christological connection I hadn’t seen before in this text, made even more pronounced by the apocalyptic tone Berrigan adopts and the sense of excitement he conveys. The poem can, of course, be read as simply the glorious waking of a day, as the psalmist intended. But there’s another layer I want to explore: signs in the heavens, and the coming of Christ.

In the Christian tradition, Jesus is compared to both a sun and a bridegroom, and he, too, like the skies, “bespeak[s] the glory of God.” “Oriens”—Dawn or Dayspring—is one of the traditional titles of Christ, typically invoked in liturgies on December 21 as part of the O Antiphons cycle. From the Church of England’s Common Worship: “O Morning Star, splendor of light eternal and sun of righteousness: come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death” (cf. Luke 1:78–79; John 8:12; Mal. 4:2). The coming of Jesus—in Bethlehem, in human hearts, and on the last day—illuminates and sets ablaze, revealing who God is and who we ourselves most truly are and exciting the world, flinging abroad the divine light.

As for the bridegroom, Jesus uses this metaphor for himself in his parable of the ten bridesmaids (Matt. 25), as God does in Isaiah 62:5, and indeed one of the major motifs in the book of Revelation is a wedding between Christ and his people. Christ will return to us, scripture suggests, like a husband coming to bring home his new bride.

One of the antiphons for First Vespers of Christmas, I’ve just learned, sung the evening of December 24, connects the bridegroom of Psalm 19 with Jesus. Cum ortus fuerit sol de caelo, the church chants, videbitis Regem regum procedentem a Patre, tanquam sponsum de thalamo suo. (“When the sun shall have risen in the heavens, ye shall see the King of kings coming from the Father, as a Bridegroom from his bride-chamber.”)

Butler, Tanja_Woman Clothed with the Sun
Tanja Butler (American, 1955–), Woman Clothed with the Sun, 2008. Acrylic paint, collaged painted paper, and cotton fabric on gessoed acid-free paper, 14 × 5 in. Collection of Victoria Emily Jones.

Artist Tanja Butler further extends Psalm 19’s fittingness for Advent by drawing the passage into conversation with Revelation 12:1–6. This section of John’s Apocalypse introduces us to “a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars”; she gives birth to a baby boy “who is to rule all the nations” but whom a great dragon seeks to devour. In most Christian interpretations, this Woman of the Apocalypse is associated with the Virgin Mary, and there’s a robust iconographic tradition in this vein.

Butler innovates on that tradition with her mixed-media work Woman Clothed with the Sun by showing the infant Jesus busting out of his mother’s womb like the strong athlete of Psalm 19:5. (Ready. Set. Go!) He has a race to run, a mission to fulfill. He is also shown as the sun that clothes his mother and that emerges from a dark (uterine) tent. He is the source and center point of the explosive rays of colorful light in the painting.

In an ArtWay profile, Butler describes her piece as follows:

Mary is represented with the unborn Christ, Light of the World, ready to “come forth from his pavilion, like a champion rejoicing to run his course” (Psalm 19:5). She holds a ladder, referencing both Jacob’s vision and the cross, the ladder of ascent between earth and heaven.

This is a cosmic birth necessitated by a cosmic struggle that will resolve in a cosmic victory: the reunion of God and humanity.


Daniel Joseph Berrigan, SJ, (1921–2016) was an American Jesuit priest, peace activist, award-winning poet, and professor of theology and biblical studies. Through his writings and public witness, he endorsed a consistent life ethic, opposing war, nuclear armament, abortion, capital punishment, and the causes of poverty in the name of Jesus Christ and his holy gospel. Fr. Berrigan, along with his brother Philip, was one of the Catonsville Nine, imprisoned in 1968 for destroying draft files in a protest against the Vietnam War. Later, he spent much of the eighties ministering to AIDS patients in New York City. He is the author of some fifty books.

Tanja Butler (born 1955) is a painter and liturgical artist based in the Albany, New York, area. Her subjects are devotional in character, and her sources of inspiration include Byzantine icons, medieval art, and folk art. Her work is included in the collections of the Vatican Museums, the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles, the Portland Museum of Art in Maine, and the Boston Public Library. “My aim is to develop imagery that has the simplicity and clarity of a child-like vision,” she says, “required, we’re told, if we are to see the kingdom of God.”

Advent, Day 12: Come, My Way

LOOK: Colored light in a Missouri chapel

Marianist Retreat Center Chapel
Arcade, Main Chapel, Marianist Retreat and Conference Center, Eureka, Missouri. The chapel was designed by Br. Mel Meyer, SM. Photo: Kelly Kruse.

Behold the natural light filtered through the stained glass windows of this Marianist chapel in Eureka, Missouri, bathing the walls and flat arches in color.

LISTEN: “Come, My Way” | Words by George Herbert, 1633 | Music by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1911; arr. Edward A. David, 2013 | Performed by Fr. Austin Dominic Litke, OP; Fr. Bob Koopman, OSB; and Leah Sedlacek of Blackfriar Music, 2013

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
such a way as gives us breath,
such a truth as ends all strife,
such a life as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:
such a light as shows a feast,
such a feast as mends in length,
such a strength as makes his guest.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
such a joy as none can move,
such a love as none can part,
such a heart as joys in love.

This phenomenal poem, “The Call,” is from The Temple by George Herbert (1633), a posthumously published collection of all his English-language poems. The famous British composer Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872–1958) set it to music in 1911, along with three of Herbert’s other religious poems (“Easter,” split into two parts, “Love [III],” and “Antiphon [I]”) for his composition Five Mystical Songs. Williams’s setting can be found in dozens of hymnals, usually under the title “Come, My Way, My Truth, My Life.”

In 2013, the media division of the Dominican Province of St. Joseph—one of four Dominican provinces in the United States, extending from New England to Virginia to Ohio—produced a music video featuring a new arrangement of the hymn by Edward A. David, who has a bachelor of music degree in classical piano performance from New York University. (He later went on to earn a master’s and doctorate in theology at Oxford and is now an ethicist.)

The project was inspired by Pope Francis’s call during the World Youth Day festivities in Rio de Janeiro in July 2013 to “take to the streets” in sharing the gospel. Scenes were filmed throughout New York City: at Brooklyn Bridge, Our Lady of Good Counsel Roman Catholic Church, Grand Central Station, Columbus Circle, and on the Staten Island ferry.

The filmmakers are graduates of NYU’s film school: A. Joshua Vargas, John S. Fisher, and Michael Crommett.

The singer in the video is Father Austin Litke, who at the time served as chaplain of NYU’s Catholic Center. He is currently an adjunct instructor at The Saint Paul Seminary and a visiting professor of Catholic studies at the University of St. Thomas.

For an acoustic performance by Ryan Flanigan, an Anglican church music director and the founder of Liturgical Folk, see here:


This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here. Blackfriar Music’s and Ryan Flanigan’s recordings of “Come, My Way” are not on Spotify.

“Agnus Dei” by Cecil Day-Lewis (poem)

Gauguin, Paul_Be Be (The Nativity)
Paul Gauguin (French, 1848–1903), Be Be (The Nativity), 1896. Oil on canvas, 67 × 76.5 cm. State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia. A midwife holds the newborn Christ as his mother rests in the upper left corner.

O child of man,
Wombed in dark waters you retell
Millenniums, image the terrestrial span
From an unwitting cell
To the new soul within her intricate shell,
O child of man.

O child of man,
Whose infant eyes and groping mind
Meet chaos and create the world again,
You for yourself must find
The toils we know, the truths we have divined –
Yes, child of man.

O child of man,
You come to justify and bless
The animal throes wherein your life began,
And gently draw from us
The milk of love, the most of tenderness,
Dear child of man.

So, child of man,
Remind us what we have blindly willed –
A slaughter of all innocents! You can 
Yet make this madness yield
And lift the load of our stock-piling guilt,
O child of man.

“Agnus Dei” is the seventh of nine titled sections of the poem “Requiem for the Living” by Cecil Day-Lewis, originally published in The Gate, and Other Poems (J. Cape, 1962) and compiled in The Complete Poems of C. Day Lewis (Stanford University Press, 1992).

Cecil Day-Lewis CBE (1904–1972) was one of the leading British poets of the 1930s, closely associated with W. H. Auden. He was born in Ireland of Anglo-Irish parents, his father a Church of Ireland clergyman, and was educated at Oxford, where he taught poetry from 1951 to 1956. In the 1940s he “turned from poetry of left-wing political statement to an individual lyricism expressed in more traditional forms” (Britannica) and served as poet laureate of England from 1968 until his death in 1972. In addition to writing poetry, he also wrote crime novels under the pseudonym Nicholas Blake, sixteen of which feature detective Nigel Strangeways. One of Day-Lewis’s four children is the actor Daniel Day-Lewis.

Advent, Day 6: Tears

LOOK: the heavens wept with me by Caitlin Connolly

Connolly, Caitlin_the heavens wept with me
Caitlin Connolly (American, 1986–), the heavens wept with me, 2018. Oil on canvas.

LISTEN: “A Dream / On Another’s Sorrow” | Words by William Blake, from Songs of Innocence, 1789, adapt. | Music by David Benjamin Blower, on Innocence & Experience, 2022

Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an Emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, ’wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke I heard her say:

“O my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me.”

Pitying, I dropped a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: “What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

“I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home.”

*

Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can They who smile on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,

And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear;

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

They do give Their joy to all;
They become an infant small;
They become a one of woe;
They do feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by;
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.

The lyrics of this song comprise two poems from William Blake’s Songs of Innocence: “A Dream” and “On Another’s Sorrow.”

In “A Dream,” the poetic speaker dreams about a lost ant (an emmet) who is trying to find her way back to her children and husband. The speaker is moved by the ant’s distress and weeps for her. But then a glowworm (“the watchman of the night,” as he’s lit like a lantern) graciously intervenes, telling the ant to listen to the sound of the beetle walking and to follow that sound home while he lights the way.

“Told from a trusting, childlike perspective, the poem”—a fable—“suggests that those who ask for help will get it: the world is a naturally compassionate place, and guidance and protection are always at hand, even in difficult times.” (LitCharts)

Aren’t we all “little wanderers”? Many of us troubled, bewildered, lonely, and worn by our seeking and striving?

There is empathy for us not only from fellow travelers but also from the Divine.

“On Another’s Sorrow” is about how God lovingly enters into our woes through the Incarnation. He becomes a participant in the project of being human, experiencing firsthand the many trials, hurts, and vulnerabilities that come with the territory.  

In the first three stanzas, the speaker expresses how keenly he feels the sorrows of others. In the fourth stanza, he reflects on how God does the same—only God is perfectly present to all, weeping with those who weep, sighing with those who sigh. Having “become an infant small,” the Creator has demonstrated solidarity with his creation. It is a comfort to know that God is so intimately acquainted with the griefs that afflict us and is keen to companion us through them.

In his creative visioning, British singer-songwriter David Benjamin Blower brought together Blake’s “A Dream” and “On Another’s Sorrow” with a single, spare musical setting, linking the two poems with an instrumental interlude but keeping the same tune throughout. The first poem is about the feeling of weariness or lostness; the second, grief. Both have to do with compassion—we owe it to one another and often receive it from others, and it is always available to us in Christ, who is God brought near.

In “On Another’s Sorrow,” Blower changed the pronouns for God in the fourth and seventh stanzas from “He/His” to “They/Their,” since God is neither male nor female. He also omitted the final stanza in Blake’s original:

O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone,
He doth sit by us and moan.


This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.

“December Morning” by Anna Seward (poem)

Munter, Gabriele_Breakfast of the Birds
Gabriele Münter (German, 1877–1962), Breakfast of the Birds, 1934. Oil on board, 18 × 21 3/4 in. National Museum of Women in the Arts, Washington, DC.

I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light,
Winter’s pale dawn; and as warm fires illume,
And cheerful tapers shine around the room,
Through misty windows bend my musing sight,
Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white,
With shutters closed, peer faintly through the gloom
That slow recedes; while yon gray spires assume,
Rising from their dark pile, an added height
By indistinctness given—then to decree
The grateful thoughts to God, ere they unfold
To friendship, or the Muse, or seek with glee
Wisdom’s rich page. O hours more worth than gold,
By whose blest use we lengthen life, and, free
From drear decays of age, outlive the old!

This poem was originally published in Original Sonnets on Various Subjects; and Odes Paraphrased from Horace by Anna Seward (London, 1799) and is in the public domain.

Anna Seward (1747–1809), nicknamed the Swan of Lichfield, was a British Romantic poet who wrote elegies, odes, ballads, sonnets, and the well-received verse-novel Louisa (1784). Active in Lichfield’s literary community, she benefitted from her clergyman father’s progressive views on female education. She was a prodigious correspondent and was seen as an authority on English literature by contemporaries such as Samuel Johnson, Robert Southey, and Sir Walter Scott, the latter of whom edited her posthumously published Poetical Works in three volumes (1810).