This Twelfth Day carol takes its lyrics from a Victorian poem of the same title. The poem was composed by G.K. Chesterton†, an English author famous for his masterful use of paradox to present acumens of “common sense”. Though Chesterton’s writing was often tongue-in-cheek, he produced seminal works of social and political philosophy.
Chesterton eventually converted to Catholicism from the Anglican Church, and wrote Christian apologetics later in life. Here is the Little Door might be one such treatise, for it descries the history of violence in Christ’s name in the same breath as it celebrates the miracle of Christmas. Because of its arresting approach, this piece stands apart from conventional nativity carols.
The first verse describes the moment when the Magi discover the door to the manger where Jesus lay. Speaking as one, they present their gifts.
Lift up the latch; O lift!
We need not wander more,
but enter with our gift.
A gift of finest Gold,
Gold that was never bought nor sold;
Myrrh to be strewn about his bed;
Incense in clouds about his head;
all for the Child who stirs not in his sleep,
but Holy slumber holds with ass and sheep.
The second verse sings the legacy of Christianity: the gifts Christ gives prophesied in Epiphany. We are made to marvel that these endowments, awful and triumphant, issue from the body of a child.
See how his eyes awake–lift up your hands! O lift!
For Gold he gives a keen-edged sword (defend with it thy little Lord)!
For incense, smoke of battle red.
Myrrh for the honoured happy dead.
Gifts for his children, terrible and sweet,
Touched by such tiny hands and oh! such tiny feet.
English composer and organist Herbert Howells scored the text for SATB choir a capella in 1918. The voices, like the Magi they bespeak, travel together until their final adoration of the Infant. Each note of the melody is oh so steady. The opening verse is a humble whisper.
The majesty of the closing verse is breathtaking. No longer are the Magi singing to us: that chant is taken up by that sanguine Christian history. Sensing the change in tone, Howells amplifies his melody both dynamically and harmonically. The choir fuses in unison at the apex of the piece, commanding believers to take up the keen-edged sword to defend Christ.
Earlier this weekend, Myk asked me if I had a favourite Christmas carol. At the time, I shrugged the question off and reminded my friend the folly of choosing a favourite anything. Not long afterward, Chanticleer’s performance of this piece floated over my car speakers, and it dawned on me how deeply I enjoy it. If I had to choose a favourite carol, this would be the one.
I don’t go to church–hell, I’m not even baptized, as far as I know–but enjoy your Christmas mass, if you attend, and keep this carol in mind. From me to you, Newsvine, Merry Christmas!
© Ryan Stolte-Sawa 2007 for Listen In.
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