A sparrow falls and it is gone,
but there is one who holds it still,
and in the everlasting dawn
the sparrow’s song his sky shall fill.

Though fear will steal our very breath;
though all the bonds we knew disjoin
as father gives his own to death;
two sparrows sell for one small coin,

yet comes a one who knows their names.
Though we may fall, he lifts us then.
Each feather, wing, and note he claims,
and in his hand they live again.

He gathers all the fragments up
though their sharp edges hurt his hands,
and shapes again the potter’s cup
that evermore unbroken stands.

He fills it from the living spring
of mercy falling as the dew.
Oh, see the sparrow rise and drink!
Our broken love is all made new!

The Turtle Dove by Sophie Gengembre Anderson (1903) – The Athenaeum: Home – info – pic, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=896

God at last has looked with favor,
set the barren branch aflame.
Child, you will bring forth a savior;
generations praise your name.

Eden’s memory still is verdant,
though we lost its walks and ways.
Child, your son will crush the serpent,
will your fallen mothers raise.

Long we labored in our sorrow:
You will share our grief and pain
bringing forth our life’s tomorrow.
Child, your tears will be our gain.

So we call across our history—
bitter laughter, broken trust,
blood, deceit, yet more of mystery—
Hear us calling from the dust:

We have waited for your coming.
You, the morning long prepared,
set our dry bones stirring, thrumming
with a hope we’d hardly dared.

Mary, hear your mothers’ chorus,
you among all women blest.
Kiss our son and savior for us
as he nestles at your breast.

Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb,
and the leopard shall lie down with the kid;
the calf and the young lion shall browse together,
with a little child to guide them.
The cow and the bear shall be neighbors,
together their young shall rest;
the lion shall eat hay like the ox.
The baby shall play by the cobra’s den,
and the child lay his hand on the adder’s lair.
–Isaiah 11:1-10

When he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees
coming to his baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers!
Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?
Produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance.
And do not presume to say to yourselves,
‘We have Abraham as our father.’
For I tell you,
God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones.
Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees.
Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit
will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
—Matthew 3:1-12

O wolf, come be a guest: Your host the lamb
will see you want for nothing.  Cow and bear,
come nurse together, cub and calf and dam.
The child will lay his hand on the adder’s lair.

The child will lay his hand on the viper’s brood,
and predator and prey shall break his bread,
an end at last to every ancient feud.
The withered stump shall blossom, though long dead.

The harvest comes, the fall before the feast:
The tares shall bear good seed, the thorn trees fruit,
and many come from the west and from the east.
His axe is laid already at the root.

Though we shall fall before him in his hour,
yet from the dust lift up your head and see
the fearsome lions grazing by his power.
All nature is made new, and so are we.

Come, vipers, come and take the infant’s hand.
As death itself, we shall have no more sting.
Upon our bellies we have crawled the land,
but like the angels we shall rise and sing.

Identificatie Titel(s): Kerstkaart van Henri Verstijnen Verde op uw wegen (titel op object) Objecttype: kerstkaart Objectnummer: RP-P-2018-286-18 Opschriften / Merken: datum Vervaardiging Vervaardiger: prentmaker: Henri Verstijnen (vermeld op object) Plaats vervaardiging: Nederland Datering: dec-1935 Materiaal en Techniek Fysieke kenmerken: houtsnede op transparant papier Materiaal: papier transparant papier Techniek: houtsnede Afmetingen: blad: hoogte 226 mm × breedte 150 mm Onderwerp Wat: trees: palm-tree, beasts of prey, predatory animals: lion, lamb Wie: Henri Verstijnen Verwerving en rechten: Verwerving: onbekend 2018 Copyright: Publiek domein By Rijksmuseum – http://hdl.handle.net/10934/RM0001.COLLECT.694256, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=151291177

There was a dove in the apple tree,
with a low, low, my love, my love,
among the green boughs, sweet to see,
and sweet he sang upon the ear,
but Eve and Adam could not hear,
with a low.

For Adam ate as Eve had bid,
with a low, low, my love, my love,
and from the Father then they hid.
For Eve had eaten at a word—
not dove but serpent she had heard,
with a low.

And now the dove weeps all the day
with a low, low, my love, my love,
for all Eve’s children, welaway!
The tears he weeps, they fall as rain
for bitter sorrow, bitter pain,
with a low.

But he will cast his feathers down
with a low, low, my love, my love,
and weave himself a briar crown,
will lose his song and still his flight
and fall to earth in dead of night,
with a low.

Then helpless as a child and weak
with a low, low, my love, my love,
to one bright maiden shall he speak,
and she, Eve’s daughter, she will hear
and let the poor, plucked dove draw near,
with a low.

She’ll shelter him beneath her breast
with a low, low, my love, my love,
and for her kindness we’ll be blest.
Soon Eve and Adam, they will see
the sweetest fruit of the apple tree,
with a low.

Title page from the first known publication of “The 12 days of Christmas” – Anonymous (1780). Mirth without Mischief. London: Printed by J. Davenport, George’s Court, for C. Sheppard, no. 8, Aylesbury Street, Clerkenwell. pp. 5–16., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30411330

And in a moment, everything is changed
from then to now, a faultline riving time
as all the world she knows is rearranged.
As if she hears a far-off cymbal chime

and lifts her eyes and sees the world made new,
her deep-cut eyes, and sees a world beyond
the daily shadows she is used to view
where light we long for has already dawned.

Her image, funerary monument:
Is death the gate through which the angels come?
A meaning far from what her parents meant,
this stone cries out, and yet the stone is dumb.

Across the gallery, winged Hermes stands
to lead her where all sorrow’s held at bay,
and confident into the unseen lands
to go where Eve has waited many a day

she nods and steps away into the light.
And looking at her flight I catch my breath.
There are so many endings to the night.
An angel folds its wings in Nazareth.

Portrait of maiden, Maiden of Vulci, Tolonia Collection,
© Fondazione Torlonia. https://www.fondazionetorlonia.org/ritratto-di-fanciulla

For the First Sunday of Advent (Year A):

The night is now far gone,
and swiftly comes the dawn.
Make ready for the Lord of day:
Prepare the way!

Though now the sky is dark,
he kindles here the spark.
No eye can see, no ear can hear,
yet he draws near.

Bow down, then, mountain pride
not to oppose his stride.
Make straight a highway in the waste—
he comes in haste.

You valleys, lift your heads,
and deeps of all my dreads.
Let me come there though I am weak,
to him I seek.

When on the clouds he comes,
no more the martial drums
disturb our peace, and all who warred
shall bend the sword.

Then turn now, anger’s blade,
to plow this hidden glade.
This wilderness shall bear a feast
when dawn breaks east.

Through deserts in my soul
he’ll make his rivers roll.
My barren places blooming green
in him are seen.

And he shall make a way
to bring my night his day.
Let all I am, while dark the skies,
awake and rise!

13th century depiction of a ploughing By Baudouin d’Arras – photographie, travail personnel, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3837028

The night is now far gone, the day at hand,
we say, though nothing lights the eastern sky;
no golden morning rises on the land;
unbroken night enfolds the watching eye.
But longing so we cannot sleep, we stand
and wait for day to break for us on high.

As no one saw the infant in the womb
or felt his leaping, so the night wears on.
We would not see a nova in the gloom
‘til eons passed, yet where the darkness yawns
the flare is born, and sure within his tomb
a light was kindled long before the dawn.

Let hope be honest when it most seems false
as we face eastward, absent any glow.
We see not, nor we hear, and all sense dulls,
but still the heart conceives and still we know,
who tremble with the echoes of your pulse,
that somewhere in this dark, O Lord, you grow.

Picture of space from the northern hemisphere By Los Perros pueden Cocinar – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=130852158

The fog is rolling in again
to stifle light and muffle sound,
unpierceable by thought or sense;
in it the lost are never found,
and I, a panther in this pen
in its soft shackles helpless bound.

The fog is rolling in again,
like midnights in the chill of fall.
I found it terrifying then
to drive into no world at all,
cut off from every haunt of men,
with none to answer when I call.

The fog is rolling in again—
and light a candle, curse the dark,
all curse and comfort fail me when
the mist has swallowed every spark
as if no light had ever been.
The world is comfortless and stark.

The fog is rolling in again.
The curse is dampened as I shout.
There’s nothing left of vehemence,
and soon the candle flickers out.
I am alone in blank immense,
dissolving into formless doubt.

The fog is rolling in again.
I am cut off, below, above.
Throw me a line, O God in heav’n—
a thread of hope would be enough
to tie me to the world I ken.
Don’t let me go, Lord, in your love!

Italy By Dominicus Johannes Bergsma – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=43854534

The rulers sneered at Jesus and said,
“He saved others, let him save himself
if he is the chosen one, the Christ of God.”
Even the soldiers jeered at him.
As they approached to offer him wine they called out,
“If you are King of the Jews, save yourself.”
Above him there was an inscription that read,
“This is the King of the Jews.”
Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying,
“Are you not the Christ?
Save yourself and us.”
The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply,
“Have you no fear of God,
for you are subject to the same condemnation?
And indeed, we have been condemned justly,
for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes,
but this man has done nothing criminal.”
Then he said,
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
He replied to him,
“Amen, I say to you,
today you will be with me in Paradise.”
—Luke 23:35-43

O King of all the universe,
of height and depth unfathomed,
in limit swaddled at your birth,
in linen for your passion:

You know the weakness of my sight
that cannot bear your glory.
For me you dimmed your blazing light;
be king of mercy for me.

When you have trampled death by death
and into heaven entered,
remember me in my last breath:
O master, be my shepherd!

To lead me through the shadow vale.
my sovereign, go beside me
and with the love that never fails
protect me still and guide me!

Though long I’ve left the path of right,
yet seek me, Lord, and bring me
to pastures of your paradise.
Oh, may I join your kingdom!

Then with the angels I will praise
the Lord of might and justice,
and tell all hearts for endless days:
This king the king of love is!

Johannes VII. Grammatikos löscht ein Christus-Bild By Unknown author – http://www.krotov.info/spravki/persons/19person/1818hludov.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2981654