At the birth of Christ. Christmas poem for children

At the birth of Christ. Christmas poem for children

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Lope de Vega wrote several poems dedicated to Christmas and the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem.

At the birth of Christ is one of his most popular poems about Christmas, in it he tells us about the humble place where the baby Jesus was born. Shepherds, sheep, wolves wait there ... until they come from heaven to announce their birth.

They herded their cattle

at the back of a mountain

of the Bethlehem tower

the sleepy shepherds,

around the logs

of some burning oaks,

that, cracking into the air,

they gave light to the forest.

In the knotty sheepfolds

the sheep they shrink,

the frost on the frozen grass

they drink thinking they eat.

Not far away the fierce wolves,

with the ferocious howls,

challenge the mastiffs,

that where they ring, they respond.

When the dark clouds

of crowned sun, breaks

a Celestial captain

of his noble armies,

stunned they fall down

the shepherds themselves,

and by the fire the hands

on the eyes they put.

The dogs raise their foreheads,

and the sheep run

one by another disturbed

with dissatisfied bleats.

When the sovereign nuncio

the golden feathers choose,

and falling in love with the air,

tells them such reasons:

«Glory to God in the highest,

peace on earth to men,

God was born in Bethlehem

on this blissful night

»He was born of a pure Virgin;

look for him, because you know where,

that in his arms you will find him

wrapped in poor blankets ».

He said, and celestial birds

in a satisfied applause

accompanying your flight

they gave the air colors.

The shepherds, summoning

with sweet happy voices

the whole sierra, they demolish

palms and noble laurels.

Bouquets in their hands carry,

and crowned with flowers,

they form paths through the snow

singing happy songs.

They arrive at the blissful portal

and although together they crown him

bunches of seraphim,

they want laurel to adorn him.

The pure and beautiful Virgin

they find telling him loves

to the newborn child,

that Man and God have by name.

The old saint takes them

where the feet adore him,

that for the short blankets

the Child was showing them then.

Everyone cries with pleasure

but how much do they cry

tears of glory and sorrow,

if the sun cries for two suns?

The holy child look at them,

and so that they fall in love,

laughs in the middle of tears,

and they offer him their gifts.

Soul, offer him yours,

and because the Child takes them,

know that it wraps well

in fabrics of hearts.

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