We celebrated the Feast of the Holy Family yesterday and it was very good to mark the day with the singing of the great hymn of William Dix, set of course to Greensleeves, that tune at once noble, familiar, and gently reassuring.



What Child is this who, laid to rest

On Mary’s lap is sleeping?

Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,

While shepherds watch are keeping?

This, this is Christ the King,

Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;

Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.



Why lies He in such mean estate,

Where ox and ass are feeding?

Good Christians, fear, for sinners here

The silent Word is pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,

The cross be borne for me, for you.

Hail, hail the Word made flesh,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.



So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,

Come peasant, king to own Him;

The King of kings salvation brings,

Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

Raise, raise a song on high,

The virgin sings her lullaby.

Joy, joy for Christ is born,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.



The days between the birth and the circumcision of Jesus must have been full ones for Mary and Joseph: crowded with activity, alive with promise, rich in wonder and thanksgiving. They had the full and grateful hearts of new parents. And the full hearts of an Israel that had watched and waited for centuries for the time of singing, in the words of another of Dix's hymns, Alleluia! not as orphans are we left in sorrow now.