'A Christmas Candle' by Phyllis Taunton Wood

A CHRISTMAS CANDLE  by  Phyllis Taunton Wood

The lover of the world is born

Among the Sainfoin and the corn.

Dear Heart, forget your ancient pain                   

And make a home for him again.

THE HOUSEKEEPER

Push in the stubborn door on rusty hinge,

And move the carpet with its ragged fringe;

Scour from the boards the long neglected grime

That all be sweet and clean for Christmas time.

Kindle upon the hearth a friendly blaze

To gladden every guest who hither strays.

Adorn the room with flowers you can bring;

Perhaps a Robin may alight and sing.

Comfort the tenant with your gentle cheer

Lest he despair to entertain you here.

At last, when Mary deems the room is fit,

Her darling baby may be born in it.

And rest within the room a happy space,

And welcome all his friends into the place;

For even a rude and uninvited guest

Is greeted lovingly at his behest.

The Ox and Ass, the Shepherd and the King,

Surround the cradle in a happy ring.

Last comer of the year, and first as well

Shall be the little lord Immanuel.

But You alone, O heavenly Housekeeper,

Could clear the lumber that was here.

 She did not long prepare

For Adam’s heir.

He found where beasts had fed

His little bed.

For so do men despise

The dim sunrise.

Doom of a subject race

He learned to face.

Caesar was master still

And had his will.

He made men’s bodies whole,

And won their soul.

But fear and sloth have part

In mortal heart.

A convict’s death his share,

But God dwells there.

That single-minded quest

Attained its rest.

And we at heart aspire

With like desire;

Though cherishing in shame

Another aim.

JESUS, we hope in you!

Redeem us too.

PASTORAL

 
They kept a vigil for the early lambs,

Those nights of sudden cold,

Rough men that had a wisdom in their hands

To help the labouring ewe, and if they might,

Succour her black legged twins’ divided strength

With careful tending in the fold.

Absorbed in duty to the newly born,

Homage to sacred life,

The shepherds did not childishly complain

Of winter nights, and wind about their necks,

But old men watched the flame with patient eyes

While their sons dozed and stirred and slept again.

Then lightning tore the darkness, and a song

Lovely as light assailed

Their ears, and caught their spirits into joy:

And from the heart of light a trumpet voice

Cried of a Saviour born to set men free.

‘The Son of Man is bare of royal sign.

On straw he lies, with destiny divine.’

They might have hidden from the rose of fire

That crowned the zenith with a diadem,

And sworn such music inconceivable

Was out of all tradition, a wild dream;

But being prone to wonder they arose.

‘Let us now go’ they said, ‘to Bethlehem.’

WINTER FLOWERS

Contending winds, hail from the bitter north

Buffet the early flowers that struggle forth.

O to reach down into sustaining earth,

The potent source of beauty ere its birth!

In this harsh season comes the Child again,

Unclothed, un-sheltered friend of pitiless men,

Whose flowering spirit dwells in fertile sod,

His root unshaken in the heart of God.

CHERRY TREE

 
That time of fear,

The legions losing nerve,

Stung into quick reprisals for revolt,

While Zealots, blind with hate

And rancour, paid the unending price

To gain an earthly paradise.

Could mortals bloom for thee

In this sterility?

A soil rock-bound,

Fissured with earthquakes, bare

Of grass and gardens, and the green embrace

Of beech-woods and the yellow Iris, found

With Comfrey in a still, well watered place –

A pledge of bleak despair

Seemed then the human race;

Yet Jesus flowered to Thee,

White-petalled Cherry tree.

They cut it down:

But on our bitter stock

The gardener grafts that dazzling tree of might;

His seeds are left

In many a granite cleft,

And little buds of brown

Turn green, and stretch to long-stemmed cherry flowers.

Rise, Jesus, flower again

Among bewildered men!

Light holds empire

Upon the refluent tide of dark.

Though men’s confused desire

Delay the splendours of the dawn,

Yet can returning chaos drown

No kindled spark.

Fair Jesus, flower in me,

Immortal Cherry tree!

IN MANUS TUAS

O little hands so soft and pitiful,

Too small to carry what you hold most dear,

No diffident or hopeless man need  fear

To take you, baby hands.

Large skilful hands inscribed with grip of tools

And wise in touch of throbbing flesh and wood,

A humble man will deem it very good

To clasp you, labouring hands.

O wounded hands, helpless & pierced & torn,

Strong hands that suffer more than need be borne.

O patient hands, nailed bleeding to a board –

Into thy hands, O Lord!

                      'A Christmas Candle' by Phyllis Taunton Wood.

                      Published by the Redlynch Press, London. W5.

(limited edition of 50)

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Mrs Phyllis Taunton Wood, was a British poet and artist working in the mid 20th century. She was the wife of Sidney H. Wood, described as a leading English educator. Her first exhibition was in 1945 in Salisbury, when she exhibited oil paintings, w/colours, and wood engravings. Her poems in which she included her own hand-painted wood engravings, include 'Prayer of an Artist', 'Four Gates', 'Christmas Candle', 'Pilgrims Elixir', and 'Dark Valley'.

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"God is surprisingly good and liberal towards a soul that heartily seeks Him.  Neither can past sins prove a hindrance to our becoming saints, if only we have the sincere desire to attain holiness."                                                                                        'Thoughts from St Alphonsus'
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'Wishing you a blessed and happy Christmas and New Year.'