Chestertonian Friends: despite some delay due to the continuing and unavoidable commitments, meals and Christmas dinners, Christmas would like to congratulate you and wish you're having a happy holidays, celebrating the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ in company your families and friends and pray that God throws at you a happy 2011. I pray especially for those who have nothing, the poor, the sick, sad and disconsolate, to give them food, companionship, comfort and warmth. They reflect a more humble and simple way in which Our Lord was born on Earth. For this I say, fumbling among the poems of our beloved Gilbert Chesterton, I found a very suitable for Christmas, the Nativity in Bethlehem and the theme of 'the homeless', the homeless. I beg you to consider not the fault of my poor translation and I hope you enjoy and make you reflect on those who, during the holidays, they have nothing, no home or people like them or share a meal with them. I leave the poem in English, followed by a translation into Castilian, with the hope that you live intensely these days of Christmas:
THE HOUSE OF CHRISTMAS
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home Shall men eat,
To place an Older Than Eden And a workshop
town Than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the Things That Can not Be And That plow,
To the place Where God WAS homeless
And All Men Are at home.
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home Shall men eat,
To place an Older Than Eden And a workshop
town Than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the Things That Can not Be And That plow,
To the place Where God WAS homeless
And All Men Are at home.
THE CHRISTMAS HOUSE
Far away was a mother driven
In a inn to roam;
To a place where, as she has no roof,
All men are at home.
The crazy stable is very close,
With sand wood shakes and moves,
grew to support and stand a little harder
That the square stones of Rome.
Nostalgic men in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
They rest their heads in a strange land
When the day is over.
Here are the battle and burning eyes,
And fortune and honor and great surprise,
But our homes live under miraculous skies
Where began the story of the winter solstice.
a child in a stable negligible,
Where the beasts feed and breathe;
only in that place where He does not have a roof
While you and I are in our home;
We working hands and heads that know,
But we lost our hearts, oh, how long!
In a place that no map nor ship can show
Under the huge building of the sky.
This world is wild as a tale of old women,
And it's strange that things are so simple,
Because land is plentiful and the air, enough,
For our wonder and our war;
Our rest is as far as the dragon restless
And we make our peace in impossible things
Where thundering wings sounded inconceivable
About an incredible star.
At an afternoon open house
The home to which men are to come,
To a place as old as the Eden
And highest city Rome .
the end of the path of the star wandering
A things that can not be and yet are,
To the place where God was homeless
And where all men are at home.
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!
May God bless you and you live a HAPPY 2011, in company with all your loved ones!
From these humble pages , we provide for you and we hope that you bring the Kings, and many gifts, the best: happiness, health, peace and love.
you soon, folks.
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