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				Title:     A Christmas Carol 
			    
Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge [
More Titles by Coleridge]		                
			    
I
    The shepherds went their hasty way,
      And found the lowly stable-shed
    Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
      And now they checked their eager tread,
  For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung,  
  A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.
  II
    They told her how a glorious light,
      Streaming from a heavenly throng,
    Around them shone, suspending night!
      While sweeter than a mother's song,  
  Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth,
  Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
  III
    She listened to the tale divine,
      And closer still the Babe she pressed;
    And while she cried, the Babe is mine!  
      The milk rushed faster to her breast:
  Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
  Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
  IV
    Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
      Poor, simple, and of low estate!  
    That strife should vanish, battle cease,
      O why should this thy soul elate?
  Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,--
  Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?
  V
    And is not War a youthful king,    
      A stately Hero clad in mail?
    Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
      Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail
  Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
  Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. 
  VI
    'Tell this in some more courtly scene,
      To maids and youths in robes of state!
    I am a woman poor and mean,
      And therefore is my soul elate.
  War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,   
  That from the agéd father tears his child!
  VII
    'A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
      He kills the sire and starves the son;
    The husband kills, and from her board
      Steals all his widow's toil had won;                
  Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
  All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
  VIII
    'Then wisely is my soul elate,
      That strife should vanish, battle cease:
    I'm poor and of a low estate,                      
      The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
  Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:
  Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.'
1799.
[The end]
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem: Christmas Carol
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