A Christmas Banquet for Younger Listeners









Cradle Hymn

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,

The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.

The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay—

The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.


The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,

But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.

I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,

And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

Choose a story.

The Christmas Story by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

The Holy Night by Selma Lagerlöf

How the Fir Tree Became the Christmas Tree by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

Babouscka by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

The Christmas Rose by Frances Jenkins Olcott

The Legend of St. Christopher by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

The Legend of the Christmas Tree by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

The Three Purses by Frances Jenkins Olcott

Little Piccola by Frances Jenkins Olcott

Mrs. Santa Claus by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

The Elves and the Shoemaker by Frances Jenkins Olcott

The Golden Cobwebs by Sara Cone Bryant

The Stranger Child by Frances Jenkins Olcott

The Jar of Rosemary by Maud Lindsay



Choose a poem.

Bethlehem Anonymous

Carol by Kenneth Grahame

A Christmas Carol by G. K. Chesterton

The Christmas Child by George MacDonald

Christmas Day and Every Day by George MacDonald

Cradle Hymn by Martin Luther

An Old Christmas Carol Anonymous

An Old English Carol Anonymous

Santa Claus Anonymous

How Far Is It to Bethlehem? by Frances Chesterton

I Saw Three Ships Old Carol

I Heard a Bird Sing by Oliver Herford

The Friendly Beasts Anonymous

Long, Long Ago Anonymous

Christmas Song by Eugene Field

The Christmas Rose

When the Magi laid their rich offerings of myrrh, frankincense, and gold, by the bed of the sleeping Christ Child, legend says that a shepherd maiden stood outside the door quietly weeping.

She, too, had sought the Christ Child. She, too, desired to bring him gifts. But she had nothing to offer, for she was very poor indeed. In vain she had searched the countryside over for one little flower to bring Him, but she could find neither bloom nor leaf, for the winter had been cold.

And as she stood there weeping, an angel passing saw her sorrow, and stooping he brushed aside the snow at her feet. And there sprang up on the spot a cluster of beautiful winter roses,—waxen white with pink tipped petals.

"Nor myrrh, nor frankincense, nor gold," said the angel, "is offering more meet for the Christ Child than these pure Christmas Roses."

Joyfully the shepherd maiden gathered the flowers and made her offering to the Holy Child.


— An Old Legend by Lizzie Deas (Adapted)