Poems for Advent

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First of all, we apologize for the lack of posts this past week. The stress of finals and Christmas preparation have kept us quite busily occupied. However, we hope to be back to posting regularly throughout the next few weeks. Thanks for understanding!
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As we celebrate this season of Advent, we thought we would post a few poems that have been meaningful to us recently. We find that poems, which one must read over again and again in order to fully understand, usher in a contemplative spirit and help us to not only appreciate the rhythm of words, but also help us to more fully understand the underlying themes that the poem presents. The following poems focus on the season of Advent and the birth of Christ.
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Advent
by Sheldon and Davy Vanauken
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Two thousand years go by while on the Cross
Our Lord is suffering still--there is no end
Of pain: the spear pierces, nails rend--
And we below with Mary weep our loss.
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The chilling edge of night crawls round the earth;
At every second of the centuries
The dark comes somewhere down, with dreadful ease
Slaying the sun, denying light's rebirth.
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But if the agony and death go on,
Our Lady's tears, Our Lord's most mortal cry,
So, too, the timeless lovely birth again--
And the forsaken tomb. Today: the dawn
That never ended and can never die
In breaking glory ushers in the slain.
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Christmas Eve
by Christina Rossetti
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Christmas hath a darkness
Brighter than the blazing noon,
Christmas hath a chillness
Warmer than the heat of June,
Christmas hath a beauty
Lovelier than the world can show:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.
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Earth, strike up your music,
Birds that sing and bells that ring;
Heaven hath answering music
For all Angels soon to sing:
Earth, put on your whitest
Bridal robe of spotless snow:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.
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The Carol of Seven Signs
by Walter Wangerin, Jr. (as published here)
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The briar in a dry land grows;
Mary shall wear the bloodred rose,
Her son shall wear the thorn.
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Saint Joseph cut the cherry tree
Whose fruit he gave to his lady.
then what was left? The stone.
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Saint Joseph cut mahogany
To make the babe a crib--but he
Was to the manger born,
To wood already worn.
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One father split the cedar tree
And made two beams: A house! cried he;
A cross, the other mourned.
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Shepherds brought wool to the royal stall
For the mother a robe, for her darling a pall
for sleeping both cold and warm.
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Three gentlemen offered three measures of myrrh,
A drop to perfume, a sponge to blur,
A tun to embalm the Lord.
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And gold is lovely to the eye
But cold as stone to him who lies
Behind the golden door.
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Now these--the briar and the cherry,
Wood and wool and gold--did Mary
Ponder when Christ was born.
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Within her breast she kept it all,
A thorn, a cross, a stone, a pall,
And they herself adorned--
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For the pain was his, but he was hers,
Her child, the treasure of her purse,
By whom her womb was torn:
Et eius Salvator.
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grace & peace,
Jessina, Joanna, & Megan
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