The Holly and the Ivy

I've been singing old Christmas traditionals with this dear soul for the past month or so, and it has opened up a world of wonderful carols that I never knew existed. So, to do my own little part in passing these on, I thought it fitting to write a series of poems, as we approach Christmastime, that pay keen and humble homage to their sadly fading memory. This first is taken from 'The Holly and the Ivy,' an English folk carol set down in the latter half of the 19th century.


The Holly and the Ivy

The holly and the ivy set
their roots upon the earth,
and of the two, the holly, true,
recounts the Savior's birth.

The sun, the deer, the organ clear
all echo hymns above,
as choirs praise this day of days
when Mary bore His Love.

The holly bears a flower white
and stainless as the snow,
and Mary bore the Savior for
us sinners here below.

The sun, the deer, the organ clear
all echo hymns above,
as choirs praise this day of days
when Mary bore His Love.

The holly bears a berry red
and ruddy as the sword,
and Mary bore the Savior for
to herald Heaven's word.

The sun, the deer, the organ clear
all echo hymns above,
as choirs praise this day of days
when Mary bore His Love.

The holly bears a prickle sharp
and keen as winter chill,
and Mary bore the Savior for
to carry all our ill.

The sun, the deer, the organ clear
all echo hymns above,
as choirs praise this day of days
when Mary bore His Love.

The holly bears a bark as bitter
as His agony,
and Mary bore the Savior for
to set us captives free.

The sun, the deer, the organ clear
all echo hymns above,
as choirs praise this day of days
when Mary bore His Love.