Child Ballad

Jesus, He loves one and all,
Jesus, He loves children small,
Their souls are waiting round His feet
On high, before His mercy-seat.

While He wandered here below
Children small to Him did go,
At His feet they knelt and prayed,
On their heads His hands He laid.

Came a Spirit on them then,
Better than of mighty men,
A Spirit faithful, pure and mild,
A Spirit fit for king and child.

Oh! that Spirit give to me,
Jesu Lord, where'er I be!

1847.

Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley was an English writer, historian, and clergyman born on June 12, 1819, in Holne, Devon. He was associated with the Christian Socialist movement and was a friend of prominent figures such as Charles Darwin. Kingsley is best known for his historical novels, including 'Westward Ho!' and 'Hypatia,' as well as his children's book 'The Water-Babies.' His works often explore social issues and aim to contribute to societal reform. Kingsley died on January 23, 1875, in Eversley, Hampshire.

Charles Kingsley

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Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

On The Death Of Leopold, King Of The Belgians[1]

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

Palinodia

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To Miss Mitford: Authoress Of 'Our Village'

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Christening

To-day I saw a little, calm-eyed child, -
Where soft lights rippled and the shadows tarried
Within a church's shelter arched and aisled, -
Peacefully wondering, to the altar carried;

White-robed and sweet, in semblance of a flower;
White as the daisies that adorned the chancel;
Borne like a gift, the young wife's natural dower,
Offered to God as her most precious hansel.

Then ceased the music, and the little one
Was silent, with the multitude assembled
Hearkening; and when of Father and of Son
He spoke, the pastor's deep voice broke and trembled.

But she, the child, knew not the solemn words,
And suddenly yielded to a troublous wailing,
As helpless as the cry of frightened birds
Whose untried wings for flight are unavailing.

How much th...

George Parsons Lathrop

Translations. - A Song Of The Little Child Jesus, For Children At Christmas. Taken Out Of The Second Chapter Of The Gospel Of St. Luke. (Luther's Song-Book.)

From heaven high I come to you,
I bring a story good and new:
Of goodly news so much I bring,
Of it I must both speak and sing.

To you a child is come this morn,
A child of chosen maiden born,
A little babe so sweet and mild
Your joy and bliss shall be that child.

'Tis the Lord Christ, our very God.
He will you ease of all your load;
He'll be himself your Saviour sure
And from all sinning make you pure.

He brings you all the news so glad
Which God the Father ready had--
That you shall in his heavenly house
Live now and evermore with us.

Take heed then to the token sure--
The crib, the swaddling clothes so poor:
The infant you shall find laid there
Who all the world doth hold and bear.

Hence let us all be gladso...

George MacDonald

Christmas Carols.

1.

Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest,
Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee,
Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest,
Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea.

Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying,
Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest,
Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying,
"Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best."


2.

A holy, heavenly chime
Rings fulness in of time,
And on His Mother's breast
Our Lord God ever-Blest
Is laid a Babe at rest.

Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop,
Swoop, Angels, flying swoop,
Adoring as you gaze,
Uplifting hymns of praise, -
"Grace to the Full of Grace!"

The cave is cold and strait
T...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

A Tale For Th' Childer, On Christmas Eve.

Little childer, - little childer;
Harken to an old man's ditty;
Tho yo live ith' country village, -
Tho yo live ith' busy city.
Aw've a little tale to tell yo, -
One 'at ne'er grows stale wi' tellin, -
It's abaat One who to save yo,
Here amang men made His dwellin.
Riches moor nor yo can fancy, -
Moor nor all this world has in it, -
He gave up becoss He loved yo,
An He's lovin yo this minnit.
All His power, pomp and glory,
Which to think on must bewilder, -
All He left, - an what for think yo?
Just for love ov little childer.
In a common, lowly stable
He wor laid, an th' stars wor twinklin,
As if angel's 'een wor peepin
On His face 'at th' dew wor sprinklin.
An one star, like a big lantern,
Shepherds who ther flocks wor keepin,
Sa...

John Hartley

Child-Songs

Still linger in our noon of time
And on our Saxon tongue
The echoes of the home-born hymns
The Aryan mothers sung.

And childhood had its litanies
In every age and clime;
The earliest cradles of the race
Were rocked to poet's rhyme.

Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower,
Nor green earth's virgin sod,
So moved the singer's heart of old
As these small ones of God.

The mystery of unfolding life
Was more than dawning morn,
Than opening flower or crescent moon
The human soul new-born.

And still to childhood's sweet appeal
The heart of genius turns,
And more than all the sages teach
From lisping voices learns,

The voices loved of him who sang,
Where Tweed and Teviot glide,
That sound to-day on all the wind...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Christmas Song Of The Old Children

    Well for youth to seek the strong,
        Beautiful, and brave!
    We, the old, who walk along
        Gently to the grave,
    Only pay our court to thee,
    Child of all Eternity!

    We are old who once were young,
        And we grow more old;
    Songs we are that have been sung,
        Tales that have been told;
    Yellow leaves, wind-blown to thee,
    Childhood of Eternity!

    If we come too sudden near,
        Lo, Earth's infant cries,
    For our faces wan and drear
        Have such withered eyes!
    Thou, Heaven's child, turn'st not away
    From the wrinkled ones who pray!

    Smile upon us with thy mouth
        And thine eyes of grace;
    On our cold north breathe thy south.
        Thaw th...

George MacDonald