This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication.
Logan Pearsall Smith
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In the Bleak Midwinter
In the bleak midwinter
Frost wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone, Snow had fallen
Snow on snow
Snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter
Long ago
Our God, heaven cannot hold him Nor earth sustain
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign
In the bleak midwinter A stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ
Angels and archangels may have gathered there
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air
But his mother only, in her maiden bliss
Worshiped the beloved with a kiss
What can I give him
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part
Yet what I can I give him Give my heart