Poems for Christmas

Christmas opens up something new and unusual for the poet, and for any other person, every time. There is a certain Christian mysticism in this holiday. Therefore, each of us strives to make wishes and have them come true, just like in childhood. This day tells us that miracles still happen!

Today we have prepared an article about Christmas and New Year of Russian classical poets. Poems by I. Brodsky are highlighted separately. At one time, the poet took an oath to write about Christmas every year and for several years he stuck to his word.

It snows on Christmas

It snows on Christmas Day, falling like God's mercy. It's snowing - and magic can happen on this day.

Silence and purity, nothing will disturb them. Believe: beauty is not for nothing, since it saves the soul.

A miraculous power has been sent to you from above; this is the meaning in your destiny and the solution to the mystery of the world.

It’s snowing - and, barely breathing, we look at the winged world. A soul that was once dead awakens.

The snow falls, relieving the pain, near the icy ground. You offer him your palm: a white angel will land.

Alexander Vertinsky

Short poems and quatrains for Christmas for children

Soon, Christmas is coming, If only it would be quick - There will be a celebration in the house, The Christmas tree will sparkle!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It snows on Christmas Day, it falls like God's mercy. It's snowing - and magic can happen on this day.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

On this day we talk about the birth of Christ. On this day, Our children's lips cannot remain silent.

And hearts want to praise, Without stopping for a moment. Glorify God with us! Don't be silent - He is great.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The Boy-God was born in a manger among donkeys and lambs. And the Bethlehem courtyard and garden were illuminated by a star.

And the gray donkey thought, looking into the Baby’s eyes: “He came with goodness and faith, Compassion and affection!”

And the lazy puppy peeked from the kennel as the wise men came from the East and brought their gifts.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Suddenly a flock of bullfinches flew onto the tree. The tree immediately turned red from the living lights. On its shaggy branches, Instead of tinsel, frost is shredded by a net, snow globes. And the crown is a shining star, a miracle of miracles! Christmas, friends, is greeted by the Primeval Forest.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Fluffy snow covered the dense forest, the earth fell asleep in a quiet sleep, the vault of the heavens darkened.

Today is a rest from work, Oblivion of all worries... The first star will light up - And Christ will come to us.

It will come down to bring peace and tranquility to every family, to show your goodness to everyone, to arrange a feast for the children.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I don’t know how to read yet and I can count a little, but I know that the holiday has come - the birthday of Jesus Christ!

And I heard that Christ brought happiness and joy to people. It’s good that He came to everyone, And that there is Christmas - good!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Fur Christmas trees Smell the whole house, Each needle Whispers: “Merry Christmas!”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

In the morning we decorated the Christmas tree, and were a little tired. Let's sit under it, little sister, How beautiful the tree is!

The top is gilded, There are toys all over the Christmas tree, The lights of the garlands flicker, Like stars shining.

And the needles on our Christmas tree smell fabulous, Filling the house with peace Before a Merry Christmas.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I'm really looking forward to Christmas - It's a fabulous holiday. And I meet him in front of the colorful Christmas tree!

I congratulate the whole family on a good holiday. I love them very much and appreciate them too!

May this bright holiday bring health and may the mischievous snow sweep away the Troubles with a blizzard!

Christmas

Christmas in my native country, A blue holiday with a distant star, Where on the porches of churches in a blizzard Whirlwinds make beds for angels.

A wolf howl flies up from the white choirs... Good holiday, old and gray. The dead month opens its crooked mouth, And the spruce trees freeze in the deep snow.

Christmas in my native country. A kind grandfather with a fluffy beard, Smells of tangerines and a Christmas tree, With guns and firecrackers in his wallet.

Children's holiday, and once mine. Someone close, warm and dear quietly strokes you with a gentle hand. . . . . . . . . . . . Time has taken you with it, Christmas of my native country.

1934 Paris

Afanasy Fet

***

The night is quiet. On the unsteady firmament the southern stars tremble. The eyes of the Mother with a smile look into the quiet manger.

No ears, no extra glances, Here the roosters crow, And behind the angels in the highest, the shepherds praise God.

The manger quietly shines in the gaze, Mary’s face is illuminated. The starry choir reaches out to another choir with trembling ears,

And above Him that star of distant countries burns high: With it the kings of the East carry Gold, myrrh and incense.

Alexander Blok

Christmas Eve in the forest

Having tied a robe crosswise, tied a candle to a stick, a small angel flies, flies through the forest, light-faced. In the snow-white silence It will flutter from pine to pine, Touch a twig with a candle - It will crack, a light will flare up, It will round, tremble, As if on a thread, it will run Here and there, and here, and here... The whole winter forest shines!

As light as snow fluff, the winged spirit of Christmas Lights up the heavens, Brings the holiday to the forests, So that lights from heaven and earth can meet, So that between heaven and earth Another ray lights up, So that from the light of small candles A long ray, like a sharp sword, Lights the heart pierced, showed the wrong path.

Irina Afonskaya

***

Today will be Christmas, the whole city is waiting for the secret, it is dozing in the crystal frost and waiting for the magic to happen.

The snowstorms took over him, like a dream. In the cathedrals there is the trembling of candles and singing, and silvery smoke of incense.

To the sound of the bells, your heart will beat like a bell. And you can’t escape your fate—the magic words of Christmas.

The spring of heaven is the source of those words, they are made of flame and light. And in the world, and in the soul of the poet, and in the word, God will be reborn.

Cast a spell, blizzard-sorcerer, your magical element will transform the entire earth, city, and people into other worlds.

Miracles will happen, so easily, in a crowd of passers-by, and suddenly human voices will sound like music.

Grand Duke Konstantin Romanov

“Angel”, L. A. Andreev

Sashka, who was expelled from the gymnasium just before Christmas, was a brawler, a bully, an angry and nasty child. He was rude to his peers and adults, he was prickly and caustic. But the story is written in the Christmas genre, which means that the transformation of the main character is inevitable. The wax figurine of an angel, which the boy brought from a rich and clean house where neat children celebrated Christmas, seemed to change the little tomboy. You can immerse yourself in these magical lines with all your heart:

But suddenly Sashka’s narrow eyes flashed with amazement, and his face instantly took on its usual expression of insolence and self-confidence.
On the side of the tree facing him, which was less illuminated than the others and made up its reverse side, he saw what was missing in the picture of his life and without which everything around was so empty, as if the people around him were lifeless. It was a wax angel, carelessly hung in the thicket of dark branches and as if floating through the air. His transparent dragonfly wings fluttered from the light falling on them, and he seemed alive and ready to fly away. <…> The angel’s face did not shine with joy, nor was it clouded with sadness, but there lay on it the stamp of another feeling, not conveyed in words, not defined by thought and understandable only to the same feeling. Sashka did not realize what secret force attracted him to the angel, but he felt that he had always known him and always loved him, loved him more than a penknife, more than his father, and more than everything else. Full of bewilderment, anxiety, and incomprehensible delight, Sashka folded his hands to his chest and whispered: “Dear... dear angel!”

Nativity

Blessed is that day and hour when our Lord became incarnate, when He appeared on earth to lead us to Heaven. Blessed is the day when the gates of Eden are opened again; A wonderful star has risen over the quiet of Bethlehem! When over the wretched temple in the midnight starry twilight they sang “Glory to God in the highest!” - Proclaimed peace to the earth and goodwill to all people! Blessed is that day and hour, When in the Incarnation of Christ the Star of Salvation lit up!.. Christian, with the Disembodied Face We will merge our voices in great praise! That song will penetrate the skies. Here the song of quiet joy of the soul sung down will appear before the Throne of God! But, tell me, do you feel this joy of salvation? Have you entered into fellowship with the Lord? Tell me, my beloved brother, are you now as happy, glad, as a prisoner is glad to have his freedom returned? Are you as happy as a sick person, tormented by fear and melancholy, who is happy in that moment when he receives healing? We were wounded from sins - our Savior healed them! We were in slavery - the Redeemer freed us from shackles! We were under a cloud of anger, Under the weight of a curse - Christ dispelled the horror of darkness for us with shining grace. Bring these holy truths closer to your heart, And perhaps for the first time You will exclaim to your God in a feeling of the joy of salvation! Give thanks to Him, Bless that day and hour when He was born for us.

Sasha Cherny

Christmas in Russian poetry

The Nativity of Christ is the greatest Orthodox holiday after Easter, the celebration of the coming of God in bodily form into earthly life. The baby was born in a dark, cold stable in the suburbs of the small town of Bethlehem. The bright star of Bethlehem pointed to the place of the Birth of Christ, the light of which was followed by three eastern kings (or wise men) Belshazzar, Gaspar and Melchior, who brought gold, incense and myrrh as gifts to the Divine Infant. Gold - for the King, incense - for God, myrrh - for Man.

Christmas images and motifs are widespread in the works of Russian poets. Poems by Russian poets about Christmas in this collection are illustrated with Christmas cards.

Christmas

God is with us, understand the Gentiles. In other words: God has anointed us with the Spirit, sending the Spirit of His Son into our hearts.

Angels, descend, draw closer to the earth, for the Lord, who created the eyelids, now lives with men. Become a choir, become a cathedral, rejoice: for God is with us! It's the hour!

Xie Son is approaching! Behold, the end of summer has come, Behold, God sends the Son. The day comes, the Virgin will give birth, rejoice: for God is with us!

Promised by the prophets, the Father's orders, Decided in the last summer - The seal of the new covenant. The spirit of freedom is born within us, Rejoice: for God is with us!

Daniel's stone, You fall away from the bush to the flame Uncut, You don't burn the hay with fire. Behold our Stone, Behold our Flame, Rejoice: for God is with us!

Let us grow with the grace of our New Intercessor, Let us grow so that we may burn our adversaries. Behold the universe saved in vain, Rejoice: for God is with us!

We, who were born to You, blessed by the Lord, open the hearts of all of us, and receive us into our spiritual home. Singing a song, Exclaiming, Rejoice: for God is with us!

Grigory Savich Skovoroda (1722-1794)

On the Nativity of the Lord

Christ is born - peoples! glorify with a cry, Christ has descended from heaven - meet with a common face, Christ is in the earthly land - rush forward with your mind; Magnify Christ, universe! forever, sing to Christ in joy, people! Christ was glorified in His birth. God is the Word! Son of the Father! Invisible mirror! Yours in time, Eternal One! Christmas The light of the knowledge of God of the universe has shone, And the triumph of Thy faith has come: Then, by its ray, wonderfully enlightened, The worshipers of the stars learned from the star, From the violence of stealing their minds of the most precious, To march along new tracks to wisdom, And to bow to Thee, O Sun of eternal truth! And to know and honor You, East from the heights! Lord! bow down to us - and receive the gift of heartfelt praise from our verbal poverty.

Shirinsky-Shikhmatov Sergei Alexandrovich (1783-1837) 1823

Christmas

This small world is before these worlds, Which in a countless crowd Soar and shine in the blue firmament, One speck of dust; we - what are we ourselves?

But the host of suns rolling above us will forever weigh not a single living soul on the scales of holy love; The eternal does not weigh with our scales.

The universe is nothing before its creator; The Creator and King of the universe spoke thus: “I will be the Father of the sons of Adam; I will deliver their generation, caught in death, - He will not perish before my face!” - And God was born humble from the Virgin.

Wilhelm Küchelbecker 1832 from the “Sonnets” series

The night of the Nativity of Christ The bright sky was covered with a foggy robe of night; The moon hid in the wavy curves of the night chiton; The lightning was lost in the distant space of heaven; The stars don't shine. The fields and meadows of Bethlehem are washed with evening dew; From fragrant flowers, fragrant smoke lazily rises into the ether; The cypress trees are smoking. The silver-shaped waves of the Jordan River flow quietly; Flocks of soft-fleeced sheep lie motionless on the slope; The shepherds of Bethlehem sit under a palm tree.

The first shepherd

Glory to the One who sits in the highest reaches of the East! I don’t know why, Nathanael, but my heart is drowning in delight; Like a lamb in the valley, like a light deer in Lebanon, like the Key of Olives, So my heart beats and leaps.

Second shepherd

It is pleasant at noon, Haggai, to rest under the shade of the cedar of Lebanon; It’s nice to see those close to your heart after a long separation; But what I feel now... Words cannot explain... It’s as if the sky of heaven fits in my soul; It was as if I carried the all-seeing God in my heart.

The first shepherd

Friends! Let us sing to Jehovah, Who so wisely created the earth, Who spread the sky like a tent over the waters; The flowers of Bethlehem are fragrant, the aroma of cypress is fragrant; But songs and hymns are for the god of the scent of all sacrifices and incense. And the shepherds unanimously sang the power of God and the miracle of creation, and the ancient years...

Like the sounds of a tympanum, like bright waters - their voices spread in space. Suddenly the heavens lit up, - And the new sun, the star of Bethlehem, shook the midnight robe of heaven, Appeared above the gloomy den, And the angels harmoniously sang hymns of praise to the glory of the born god, And, splashing loudly, the Jordan rolled over the silver-shaped waters...

The first shepherd

I see a brilliant nova!

Second shepherd

I hear hymns of praise!

Third shepherd

Isn't it God descending from Zion?.. And from the limits of the East an angel appears: Gilded krills, an ethereal tunic on ramens, Joy in the eyes, heavenly joy in a smile, Rays from the face, like lightning, sparkle.

Angel

I bring you peace and joy, children of Adam!

Shepherds

Oh, who are you, heavenly messenger?.. The radiance of your face blinds mortal eyes... Are you not Moses, who led us from Egypt in ancient times to a land boiling with milk and honey?

Angel

No, I am Gabriel, standing before God, and sent to you to proclaim endless joy. The eternal mystery has been accomplished: God has appeared in the flesh today.

Shepherds

Messiah?.. O joyful messenger, your coming is from God! But where, show us, the heavenly baby, so that we can worship him?

Angel

Go to the den of Bethlehem. The Eternal Word, which the space of heaven could not contain, rests in a manger.

And the angel disappeared!

And the shepherds hastily go with their staffs to the den. The Star of Bethlehem burned above the entrance of the den. The angels sang: “Glory to him who is in the highest! peace on earth, grace among men!” The shepherds enter and see the immaculate mother in the manger, and the Child God, entwined by the pure hand of Mary, Joseph the Elder, fixing his eyes on the eternal word... And the shepherds, fallen, bowed.

Pyotr Pavlovich Ershov 1834

That night the Earth was in turmoil

That night the Earth was in turmoil: The brilliance of a large, outlandish star suddenly blinded mountains and villages, cities, deserts and gardens.

And in the desert the lionesses watched how, full of wondrous gifts, chariots moved silently, camels and elephants walked importantly.

And in the brow of a large caravan, with their eyes fixed on the sky, three wise men in intricate turbans rode to bow to someone.

And in the cave, where the torches did not go out all night, blinking and smoking, There the lambs saw in the manger a sleeping beautiful Child.

That night, all creation was in excitement, Birds sang in the midnight darkness, Announcing goodwill to everyone, The coming of peace on earth.

Khomyakov Alexey Stepanovich (1804-1860)

On this bright holiday

On this bright holiday - the Christmas holiday, we will say warm words to each other.

The snow is falling quietly: It’s winter outside, A miracle will happen here and will set hearts on fire.

May your smiles on this wonderful day be our happiness and a gift to everyone.

The sounds of life flow, Happiness and goodness, Illuminating thoughts with the Light of Christmas.

Khomyakov Alexey Stepanovich (1804-1860)

At Christmas

Believe the covenant of God's night! And then, beyond the limits of days, A host of unknown kings will appear before your eyes,

A host of wise men, enveloped in mystery, Shepherds of the Holy Land, Those who followed the extraordinary star that guided them!

Those who once heard the Song of Heaven... and, bowing, stood before the manger, praying to God for mercy!

Near, close, next to them, You will gain the right to stand And with your immortal gaze Contemplate and cognize!

Konstantin Sluchevsky (1843-1904)

***The night is quiet. On the unsteady firmament the southern stars tremble. The eyes of the Mother with a smile look into the quiet manger.

No ears, no extra glances, - Here the roosters crowed - And behind the angels in the highest, the shepherds praise God.

The manger quietly shines in the gaze, Mary’s face is illuminated. The starry choir reaches out to another choir with trembling ears, -

And above Him that star of distant countries burns high: With it the kings of the East carry Gold, myrrh and Lebanon.

Afanasy Fet 1842

Appearance of an angel to shepherds

Arise and go to the city of Bethlehem; Sweeten their souls and tell everyone: “The Savior has come to the people, the Savior has appeared in the world!” Glory to God in the highest, And peace on earth! Where the wordless creature rests, the King of the whole world rests in the manger!”

Afanasy Fet *** The star shone in the east, And from the distant steppe countries the gray-haired prophets brought gold, myrrh and Lebanon as tribute.

Amazed by her beauty, the venerable Magi followed the guiding star and fell to the face of the earth.

And before me, in the unknown steppe, the star of your bounty rose: She will shed her ray in heavenly beauty on my late evening.

But I have neither gold nor frankincense to offer, - Only with the incense of song will the poet fall at your feet.

Afanasy Fet 1887

*** There are countries where people have never known either blizzards or falling snow; There, only the tops of the granite ridges sparkle with unmelting snow... The flowers there are more fragrant, the stars are larger, Spring is brighter and more elegant, And the feathers of the birds are brighter there, and it is warmer There the sea wave breathes... In such and such a country, on a fragrant night, With the whisper of laurels and roses, the desired thing came true a miracle in person: the Christ Child was born.

Nadson Semyon Yakovlevich (1862-1887)

Nativity

K.R. (Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich) 1894

King of the Jews (excerpt)

Ioann: One night comes to mind in my homeland. About this night, as a small child, I often heard the shepherds’ simple story. They kept night watch over the herd. An angel appeared to them; [and the glory of the Lord shone around them. And fear attacked the shepherds. And the angel of God, encouraging them, said to them: “Do not be afraid! I proclaim great joy both to you and to the people of the whole earth: a Savior has been born to you. And here is a sign for you: in the cave you will find a Baby in swaddling clothes; He is reclining in a manger.” And many holy angels appeared in heaven; They cried out: “Glory to God in the highest, Peace on earth, goodwill to people!” And everything fell silent, and the light in the sky went out, and the angel of God flew away.] At His word they went and saw the manger, and the Beautiful Child Jesus swaddled in it, and His joyful Mother, Mary.

K. R. (Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich) 1912

Christmas night

How quiet this night... how transparent it is! The heavens look with inspiration, And in the arms of deep winter sleep, the forests breathe with anticipation...

On this quiet night, like a sunsetless star, in the dark abyss of lost years, the divine light lit up for the first time over the sinful land of Christianity.

That night, the Infant Christ smiled with the endless caress of love to the People - His brothers, tired of tears, Drowning in sin and blood...

On this night of light-winged heavenly guests, it’s as if singing is heard in the distance... And the radiant stars shine brighter Above the snows of the cold earth...

Nikolai Borisovich Khvostov (1849-1924)

Christmas Eve in the forest

Night. Freezing. The stars sparkle from the heights of heaven. Covered in snow, like ermines, the quiet forest sleeps.

Silence around, the clearing Sleeps in the arms of sleep. The moon floats out from behind the forest to watch.

The stars are going out. Pale rays are pouring from the sky, The frosty snow is sparkling with the silver of brocade.

With its branches spread wide, In a fur coat of snow, In the middle of the clearing, the Christmas tree went up like an arrow.

The moonlight fell on the forest beauty, And the ice of the crystals began to play like lights in the branches.

Diamond threads intertwined in the pine needles, Emeralds and rubies lit up in the snow.

The head of the tree is shining like a clear star... The great day is coming - the Christmas holiday.

Nikolai Borisovich Khvostov (1849-1924)

*** Those stars have not yet gone out, The dawn is still shining, That illuminated the manger of the Newborn Christ to the world... Then, led by a star, Alienated by the murmur of rumors, The Magi flocked to Christ in a reverent crowd... They came from the distant East, Carrying gifts with the delight of dreams, - And The Sovereign Christ was saved from Herod's eye!.. Centuries have passed... And He, crucified, But still alive, Walks like a Herald of truth, Through our worldly pasture; He goes, still abundant in Holy things, truth and goodness, And strong Herod will not overcome Him with his treacherous sword.

Fofanov Konstantin Mikhailovich (1862-1911)

Nativity

E. Lvova Ser. 19th century.

***Those were the times of miracles, The words of the prophet came true: Angels descended from heaven, A star rolled from the East, The world awaited redemption - And in the poor manger of Bethlehem, To the song of praise of Eden, The wondrous Child shone forth, And the voice of one crying in the desert thundered across Palestine...

Lev May 1855

Nativity

“Today a virgin gives birth to the Most Essential, and the earth brings a den to the Unapproachable. Angels and shepherds sing praises, while wolves travel with a star...”

The desert is sleeping. The luminaries are burning on the robe of the blue night. Whose thought powerfully turned them into a covenant written by fate?

Who hurries unsteadily in the darkness to follow the star torch? What delights and smiles? To what visions of youth?

Then the sages, the kings of the East, the Seers in life and in dreams, read the Birth of a new Prophet in heavenly writings.

They are chased vessels, carrying gifts... The path is long. The camels walk and waver, kicking up the sand like a cloud...

The sacred makes everyone related to everyone - Like death, like conscience, like sins. In the morning, in mountainous Bethlehem, the shepherds woke up in fear.

How their abode was illuminated! The Divinity Himself proclaims: “The Redeemer is born for mortals. Go and see Him!”

The humble in spirit were united by Tradition with the wise of the earth: One feeling excited them, One hope attracted them.

For them, the unknown Chosen One is already going at this hour to His feat - to the feat of the Cross in redemption for us!

Konstantin Ldov 1890s

Magi

In the radiance of the stars, a zealous caravan hurries towards a distant goal; And now, the forests have turned green, the Jordan has turned silver, behold, the towers of the walls of Jerusalem, the masses of temples and palaces, - But the heavenly light inextinguishably Calls the wise men further and further. A star streams over Palestine Its transparent rays... Behold, over the sleeping valley of the Mount of the prophet Elijah. Lower and lower, lower is the heavenly light, Behold, Bethlehem is a ridge of hills... And over the rock of the close cave, a star stopped. The heavenly rays went out; The amber glow of the lantern slightly illuminates the bed - the manger of the Newborn King. The Magi unraveled the prophetic dream, God revealed Himself to His servants. And myrrh, gold and frankincense They bring to His feet. The baby listens to their stories. A heavenly ray shines upon them again: In the eyes of Christ is the eternal mind, In a smile is eternal love.

Konstantin Ldov 1906

God is with us (Immanu-el)

Into the darkness of centuries that night had already receded, When, tired of anger and anxiety, the Earth fell asleep in the arms of the sky And in silence God was born with us.

And much is impossible now: Kings no longer look at heaven, And shepherds do not listen in the desert, As angels talk about God.

But the eternal that was revealed that night is indestructible by time, And the Word was born again in your soul, Born under the manger long ago.

Yes! God is with us - not there, in an azure tent, Not beyond the bounds of countless worlds, Not in an evil fire, and not in a stormy breath, And not in the sleeping memory of centuries.

He is here, now, amidst the random bustle, In the muddy stream of life's anxieties You own an all-joyful secret: Evil is powerless; we are eternal; God is with us!

Vladimir Solovyov 1892

Christmas night

Let everything be desecrated by centuries of crimes, Let nothing be preserved unsullied, But the reproach of conscience is stronger than all doubts, And what has once been lit in the soul will not go out.

Great things were not accomplished in vain; It was not for nothing that God appeared among people; It was not for nothing that the sky bowed to the earth, and the palace of eternity swung open.

In the invisible depths of the world consciousness, the Source of truth lives, is not drowned out, And over the ruins of the age-old shame, its verb sounds like a death knell.

Light was born into the world, and the Light was rejected by darkness, But it shines in the darkness, where the line between good and evil is, Not by external power, but by truth itself, the Prince of the century is condemned and all his deeds.

Vladimir Solovyov 1894

Adoration of the Magi

The Lord gave the Child to the Virgin, the Most Holy Divine Mary, not in the royal chambers, but in the stable. The world met the appearance of the Messiah.

In poverty, the One born was not guessed, But the wise men came to Him from the East, They brought gold, myrrh and fragrant incense with them from afar.

And they laid down their valuable gift, before the Baby, bowing down, and went to their country in a humble crowd, according to God’s word.

Glinka Fedor Nikolaevich (1786-1880) Excerpt from the poem “The Mysterious Drop: Folk Legend”, 1861-1871

December 24

The enthusiastic canon of Damascus was sung at the all-night vigil today, And my soul was full of tenderness, And the wonderful words warmed my soul. “In ancient times, the Lord miraculously saved the people...” Oh, I believe, I believe. He will come in our days and perform other miracles. Oh my God! not the people - the last of the people Calls You, full of mortal melancholy... Waves of Memories and passions also rage in my soul. He dried up the waves of the sea Oh, dry them up with your mighty hand! Like the sun, illuminate the darkness of sinful thoughts... Oh, descend upon the insignificant creature! Oh, help my unbelief!

Alexey Apukhtin (1840-1893)

Evangelism

Angelic choirs, Angelic wings blow in the dark world of Sorrow and powerlessness.

Both the hills and the valleys in meager Palestine were illuminated clearly by the Song of benevolence.

That song is heard in the vastness of the sky From the peaks of Lebanon To the stream of Kidron...

The sages from the East, To the joy of the world, Are on their way with gifts - With incense and myrrh...

Under the holy sounds of the Mountain chanting, the gloom of the Stone stable was illuminated.

And in the forgotten manger, Brighter than ever, the face of the Child, the God-Man, shines...

Twenty centuries passed by, but the soul is still inspiredly joyful.

But it’s the same in the heart When you remember, the burden of care is lighter and the suffering is lighter.

And Angelic choirs, Angelic wings soar above the world of Sorrow and powerlessness!

Corinthian Apollon Apollonovich (1868 - 1937)

Christ Child

I Doesn’t the distant sound of sea waves flow to the valleys, Didn’t the free wind carry away the song of the sea and calm down? Are the trees whispering in the silence of midnight, or is the blue midnight dreaming of the day? Wasn't it the birds that began to sing - Ringing through the bushes, Are the voices of the sensitive night heard here and there? Or maybe the flowers conspired with the flowers - Tell the distant stars All your wishes, all your dreams? Or, perhaps, the stars from the heights of their heavens Send to the earth, enveloped in darkness, News full of miracles?! No, not the stars, no, not the waves, No, not the choirs of birds ringing; These are the hosts of heavenly forces, These are the angels flying!..

II Behind the line, behind the clergy, the clergy - They fly into the sublunary world. They fly, and the rustle of the wings cast a spell on the silent distance. From the fields of heaven - Like from the heights of the mountains - Their sonorous choir descended. They sing the heavenly hymn, They bear the covenant of heaven to the earth; They sing about the fact that Christ, the Child-God, came into a world of anxiety, that Love and peace descended with Him into the abode of tears, into a rebellious world.

III And He is the divine Child, And He fell asleep and is dreaming; And the first dream of the Child Christ was overshadowed by the wings of mystery. A combination of heavenly sounds, a wonderful structure of earthly melodies, cherishes the ear of the Infant Christ with its magical play. He sees: three disembodied brothers, dispelling the darkness before them, came to Him, to the Child Christ, King and their God. He hears, - the first said: “Glory - Both on earth and in heaven - to the One who holds the Messiah in Her arms in Her Child Christ!..” The second said: “In the dark world No tears flow at this midnight, - to the Earth With Himself, the Christ the Child brought the Light of pure joys!..” And the third, the angel of sorrow, said: “He came into the world to suffer for the world!..” But the Christ the Child did not hear, But even the Mother did not listen... And the night floated over Bethlehem To the hymns of the holy angels, Crowning the dream of the Child Christ with a crown of golden constellations...

Corinthian Apollon Apollonovich (1868 - 1937)

* * * Here, here it is again, sweeping away the evil years, As in centuries distant from our days, Night descends on the earth - light and deep, Like a miracle - the highest of all the wonders of nature; And a mighty river flows into the heart again - The river of love, hopes, faith, and freedom... “Christ is born!” - the words ring in the soul, - And she is filled with boundless joy, She has torn herself away from the usual bustle, The annoying rumors of black thoughts are alien to her, - As if for her there is no more personal life, As if her sleepless sorrow is dead... Oh, sacred night! The night of endless mystery, Incomprehensible to a cold mind!.. How powerfully you speak to my heart About the fact that - by the will of the Eternal Fate - the Incarnate Light will dispel the darkness of life, Erase the head of the snake - the spirit of human thought... Christ is born... Oh, the night of magical dreams! .. Wake up, you sleepers! The Light of Reason is shining! Before the Sun of Truth - all the darkness of lies and malice melts away!.. The stream of bloody tears will dry up forever, - All - glory to Heaven, all - peace is broadcast to the earth... Arise, fallen ones! - Christ is born!.. Burdened! The burden will be light for you - Follow Him with confident steps! Close to Him with your resurrected soul, You are the race of all the humiliated, all the oppressed!.. Humble yourself, you proud ones! — the holy hour has struck: the Star of Love has risen, the time has come!.. Be silent forever, feast of dark malice! - The Star of Love burns over the abysses of vice... Deeply mired in the blindness of your passions, shake off the yoke of enmity from yourself, crazy world!.. Christ is born! He - from the heights of the East - brings to earth to us no longer a sword, but peace!..

Corinthian Apollon Apollonovich (1868 - 1937)

Star of Bethlehem

And then it began to glow... And the blue night spread its cloak over the snow... And the sky flared up from edge to edge, And the sky flared up with stars. Diamonds are not stars! But in the scattering of stars, One is clearer than all, more noticeable than all, Lighted up like a lamp over a dark abyss, And shines warmer and more welcoming. In the darkness of centuries over the distant East, She shone for the first time, Showing the way to love to kings and slaves, leaders, and prophets. Everything is perishable, everything is temporary in the vain world: Gray-haired wisdom will perish, Wealth will perish in arrogant purple, And living strength will perish. Only one thing, one thing will not change forever, One thing will not perish in the world - Love, that love that, like God, is endless. What both elders and children know... She was born in the Bethlehem cave, She lit up like a golden star, Strengthens the whole world in hope and faith, She lit up and does not fade, shining... Without this love, the life of the grave is darker, But it shines between us. Both joy and happiness are born with her, Twinkling stars above life.

Corinthian Apollon Apollonovich (1868 - 1937)

Adoration of the Magi

Quietly midnight floats over the sleeping earth. The night is silent, the desert is quiet. On this night there is serene peace on earth, On this night there is no sin on earth... And a star burns and shines in the sky, Its rays pour out like the sun in the distance... The stars have never shone like this anywhere Since the creation of the Earth itself... Nobility is born into the world The Lord of Kings - the Meek leader of the generations of the earth: Like a beacon in the vastness of the rebellious seas For the tired, persecuted, sick... Quietly midnight floats over the silent desert, And to the star that shone in the distance, Day and night they hasten, forgetting peace, From the east the wise men-kings... Soon their path will end before like a starry ray, And they will come before dawn - And in a remote cave before the Heavenly King The kings of the earth will bow... In the sky, the stars and Angels sing harmoniously: “Glory in the highest and peace on earth!” And the Magi-Kings come from the East to the Unknown Mystery with gifts...

G. Arkashov

Evening angel

In the evening hour over the peaceful steppe, When the sunset shone over it, Among the heavens, the ethereal paths, An evening angel flew by, He saw the pre-sunset twilight, The east was already sitting in the distance... And suddenly he heard a child’s inaudible voice in the neighs. He walked, collecting ears of corn and cornflowers, and sang in silence, And in the song there were sounds of paradise of an innocent, unearthly soul. “Child,” said the messenger of God, and concealed sadness and joy, “Where does your road lead, And where did your song take shape?” The child's gaze was clear and bright, But he stood in embarrassment. “I don’t know...” he answered timidly. “Bless the little brother,” said the Lord, “bless the Baby in the quiet hour of sunset on the path of truth and love!” And the Evening Angel overshadowed the child with a smile, unfolded His wings into the unsteady darkness, and sank at sunset. And like the altar of a spring night, the dawn shone in the heights, and for a long time young eyes admired her in silence. And in contemplation for the first time the Child knew beauty, Cherishing golden dreams And a dream of pure joy.

Ivan Bunin 1891

On Christmas Eve , the Great Eve of Christmas... The colors of the sky are darkening... Everything is quiet... the proximity of the celebration Nature involuntarily feels it. As if there were less worries, As if there was less suffering - The Infant God Brings the sweetness of hope to the sublunary world. A star flashed in the sky; She lit up, playing tenderly... How happy is the one who will finish Labor Day today serenely, Who, putting aside his affairs, will forget the swarm of heavy worries And will rest in the circle of his family, Calm, meek and cheerful... And not with a frowning brow, But, renouncing sad thoughts , He will celebrate the holiday at the table Among his family and friends, He will hear the holy news, When the evening bell rings, But the world is great - there are many in it And those whose path is filled with thorns... Oh God! On this holy day, send a blessing to them, Comfort them with earthly joy, Let the troubles of life go into oblivion... Let the harsh days be for them, May they be humbled by eternal anxiety, Let them appreciate the Holy parish of the Infant God more strongly on this day.

Lev Medvedev (1865 - 1904)

Christmas Eve night

The night is close, and the skies are timidly lighting up, And hidden under the snow, dark forests are dozing.

The night does not greet you as before - the Twilight of gentle spring, the rustling of grass and the shine of lightning, the babbling of leaves and waves.

Everything is silent in the snowy desert, The shining night is dead, And the bright holiday of Christmas floats in the twinkling of the night...

And as if from afar, On this joyful eve, the songs of the heavenly forces are heard, Like the sounds of heavenly strings.

And the holy sounds promise peace to embittered hearts and blessings of the earth; And a shrine to heaven!..

Alexander Fedorov (1868-1949)

Star A Christmas Carol

In the wide firmament, In a bright round dance of stars, A wondrous star shines. She will cast a ray everywhere, Where human grief groans, - In villages, groves, cities. The beam reaches the room, the peasant woman, the queen, and the bird's nest. He will slip into a rich house, And the magic ray will never blow the poor house. Everywhere joy shines brighter, Where that star ray trembles, And trouble is not terrible there, Where the star shines. Isabella Arkadyevna Grinevskaya (1854-1942) - Russian playwright, prose writer, poetess, translator, critic

Christmas morning

The ringing of bells flows in sonorous waves, Crowds of people pour into God’s temple from all over,

Both the rich and the poor, Awakening from sleep, - Everyone is in a hurry along the same road, Everyone has the same thought.

Feeling the solemn ringing, everyone goes to the temple. And with prayer they bring their labor mite as a gift,

As a gift to the One who was born in the night And among the shepherds In a manger, The meek One venerated Himself, Accepted the gift of the Magi.

Who came to earth to justify the worst Sinners, and to gather His lost sheep to the Shepherd.

Fyodor Pestryakov (1862-1911), priest

Holy night

The fiery sunset has long since faded, The last ray of dawn has gone out: The stars are twinkling, the night is clear. And the hour is approaching midnight.

For the days to come, I am calm, Dressed in a robe of light, The whole world is in prayerful mood Before the Miracle of the world's mystery...

The Holy Night floats invisibly, Celebrating the world's triumph, And the Cherubim glorify the Child-God Christmas.

Fyodor Pestryakov (1862-1911), priest

Magi

The rider rides forward. The gray-haired Melchior, full of faith, fixed his entire gaze on the star: He surrendered to the will of God from the first day. Slowly, he urges his horse forward. And behind him - behind the star - black-haired Gaspar the Magus of holy hope - the one who is a gift to the sorrowful: He gave his mind and strength, and days to science... They drive forward evenly. The third comes next... the hair is like heat; The gaze burns with love; this is the magician Belshazzar; He gave up his heart to goodness, they say... They ride forward cheerfully and look at the sky. There is a golden star burning in the sky; They have never seen one like this - never: She burns in the sky, walks in front of them, She calls to God, she beckons forward!.. And full of trepidation, happiness and life, She sank over one of the houses. And they enter there, quicken their pace, They see a miracle child in the maiden’s hands. “Here is my God,” gray-haired Melchior lowered himself and burned incense from the distant mountains in front of him. - “This is the Tsar,” and black-haired Gaspar presented gold items to the Tsar as a gift. - “I have been looking for a man all my young life, - I see, here he is, a man lying in front of me!.. He is helpless, weak, he is lying in my arms And my heart aches for him in advance! With a sorrowful soul I see your shame and judgment, - And I brought a vessel of myrrh to your body!” Young Belshazzar bowed his head... And Melchior said, raising his face: “I see the sky open and the Old Man in the rays, I see mercy towards the sufferer in the eternal eyes. And all around them choirs of angelic powers sing and smoke rises from heavenly censers." And Gaspar finished his sorcerer's speech: "May His Kingdom come to us soon."

At the manger of Christ

In front of the happy Mary, the Baby was reclining in a manger: “You are the one about whom in other days the Archangel spoke to me from heaven!”

Joseph looks tremblingly... And, forgetting the world, deaf to everything, Bending towards the manger, abandoning the flock, The shepherds watch with prayer.

Maria listened to the strange story in unearthly happiness, And in her heart she carefully composed Words about her Lord...

Nikolai Vasilyevich Remorov (1875–1919), priest since 1904. Published in the Tambov Diocesan Gazette

Bethlehem Shepherds

The skies sparkle with stars, the moon floats between the clouds, and the dew lies over the sleepy fields like diamond rain. The sandy tops of the hills turn white in the darkness of the night; Swirling, the fog floats at the bottom of the valley like a silvery wave, And above the valley of Bethlehem, Sleeps in a quiet sleep and is deaf and dumb. All around the slopes of the mountains are covered with His shady gardens; Behind them lies a carpet of Meadows with timid herds. Everything is quiet... Wonderful view of nature! The chest inhales air easily; The luminaries of the midnight round dances make their harmonious eternal journey, And the shepherds in the silence of the night Conversate among themselves... Suddenly they hear from behind the clouds the sounds of chants rushing, Then an invisible host of spirits sings praises to God the Most High. Words unknown to them sound in that inspired song: “The Lord grants peace to the universe with His Favor; To him be glory and praise!” And then the darkness dissipated: The winged leader of the holy spirits, illuminated by heavenly light, stood before the astonished crowd of Bethlehem shepherds. “Do not be afraid,” he said meekly, “The time has come for a new life; The shackles of sin will be broken, - The hour of salvation has come: The Savior of the world is born today, He lies in a den in a manger.” The vision of paradise has disappeared, Like a fleeting wonderful dream, - Only the sky resounds with chants from the heights of heaven. And again there was silence... And sometimes at night the shepherds (They are not afraid of the steepness of the mountains) hurry along the familiar path To the caves, where the flocks find shelter during the day in the summer heat. They came... The den always seemed like a dark grave from afar. - Now from the door of his modest Rays flowed mysteriously. An invisible light illuminated its vaults with a miraculous ray, and the King of heaven and all nature lay there in a wretched manger. But where, under the roof of the earth, would such a heavenly world breathe! The Mother looked at the Divinely beautiful face of the Child-God in swaddling clothes with a clear smile, Like the sun in the joyful rays. And an incomprehensible excitement took hold of the shepherds of the heart: And fear, and joy, tenderness, And peace, and happiness without end... They, bowing to the ground, brought a tribute of heart to Christ And again along the same path, Hastening to their flocks, they go And talking among themselves about the vision They lead quietly... And the night shone solemnly And called into the distance of heaven, Where there is no suffering and evil; And it became so light and peaceful in their triumphant hearts, as in these wonderful skies.

Priest A. Ushakov Theological Bulletin. 1895 T.1. No. 1. P.79–81 (2nd page)

Priest Alexey Dmitrievich Ushakov (1864–October 20, 1943) served for 40 years as rector of the Church of St. George the Victorious in the village of Yuryevskoye, Staritsky district, Tver region. He was an unusually talented person, an inquisitive researcher and local historian, a wonderful writer, wrote poetry and translated Lamartine’s poems from French.

Rozhdestvenskoe

In the manger, the quiet tiny Christ slept on fresh hay. The moon, emerging from the shadows, stroked the flax of His hair...

The bull breathed on the Baby's face and, rustling the straw, looked at the elastic knee, barely breathing.

Sparrows through the roof poles poured into the manger in a crowd, And the bull, pressed against the niche, crumpled the blanket with his lip.

The dog, sneaking up to the warm leg, licked it secretly. The cat was the most comfortable of all, warming the child sideways in the manger...

The subdued white goat was breathing on His forehead, Only the stupid gray donkey was pushing everyone helplessly:

“If only I could look at the Child for a minute!” And he cried loudly and loudly in the pre-dawn silence...

And Christ, opening his eyes, suddenly parted the circle of animals and with a smile full of affection, Whispered: “Look quickly!”

Valentin Berestov

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky (1821-1881)

Boy at Christ's Christmas tree

Christmas story

I. Boy with a pen

Children are strange people, they dream and imagine. Before the Christmas tree and right before Christmas, I kept meeting on the street, on a certain corner, one boy, no more than seven years old. In the terrible frost, he was dressed almost like summer clothes, but his neck was tied with some kind of old clothes - which means that someone had equipped him when they sent him. He walked “with a pen”: this is a technical term, meaning to beg. The term was invented by these boys themselves. There are many like him, they spin on your road and howl something they have learned by heart; but this one did not howl and spoke somehow innocently and unusually and looked trustingly into my eyes - therefore, he was just starting his profession. In response to my questions, he said that he had a sister who was unemployed and ill; maybe it’s true, but only I found out later that there are a lot of these boys: they are sent out “with a pen” even in the most terrible frost, and if they don’t get anything, then they will probably be beaten. Having collected a few kopecks, the boy returns with red, numb hands to some basement, where some gang of negligent workers are drinking, one of the same ones who, having “on strike at the factory” on Sunday Saturday, return to work no earlier than on Wednesday evening. . There, in the basements, their hungry and beaten wives are drinking with them, and their hungry babies are squealing right there. Vodka, and dirt, and debauchery, and most importantly, vodka. With the collected pennies, the boy is immediately sent to the tavern, and he brings more wine. For fun, sometimes they pour a scythe into his mouth and laugh when, with his breathing stopped, he falls almost unconscious on the floor.

...and poured bad vodka into my mouth mercilessly...

When he grows up, he is quickly sold off to a factory somewhere, but everything he earns, he is again obliged to bring to the careless workers, and they again drink away. But even before the factory, these children become complete criminals. They wander around the city and know places in different basements where they can crawl into and where they can spend the night unnoticed. One of them spent several nights in a row with one janitor in some kind of basket, and he never noticed him. Of course, they become thieves. Theft turns into a passion even among eight-year-old children, sometimes even without any consciousness of the criminality of the action. In the end they endure everything - hunger, cold, beatings - for only one thing, for freedom, and run away from their negligent people to wander away from themselves. This wild creature sometimes does not understand anything: neither where he lives, nor what nation he is, whether there is a God, whether there is a sovereign; even such people convey things about them that are incredible to hear, and yet, all the facts.

II. Boy at Christ's Christmas tree

But I am a novelist and, it seems, I composed one “story” myself. Why do I write: “it seems”, because I myself probably know what I wrote, but I keep imagining that this happened somewhere and sometime, this is exactly what happened just before Christmas, in some huge city and in a terrible freezing.

I imagine there was a boy in the basement, but he was still very small, about six years old or even younger. This boy woke up in the morning in a damp and cold basement. He was dressed in some kind of robe and was shaking. His breath flew out in white steam, and he, sitting in the corner on a chest, out of boredom, deliberately let this steam out of his mouth and amused himself by watching it fly out. But he really wanted to eat. Several times in the morning he approached the bunk, where his sick mother lay on a thin bedding like a pancake and on some kind of bundle under her head instead of a pillow. How did she end up here? She must have arrived with her boy from a foreign city and suddenly fell ill. The owner of the corners was captured by the police two days ago; the tenants scattered, it was a holiday, and the only one left, the robe, had been lying dead drunk for the whole day, without even waiting for the holiday. In another corner of the room, some eighty-year-old old woman, who had once lived somewhere as a nanny, but was now dying alone, was moaning from rheumatism, groaning, grumbling and grumbling at the boy, so that he was already afraid to come close to her corner. He got something to drink somewhere in the hallway, but couldn’t find a crust anywhere, and for the tenth time he already went to wake up his mother. He finally felt terrified in the darkness: evening had already begun long ago, but the fire had not been lit. Feeling his mother’s face, he was amazed that she did not move at all and became as cold as a wall. “It’s very cold here,” he thought, stood for a while, unconsciously forgetting his hand on the dead woman’s shoulder, then he breathed on his fingers to warm them, and suddenly, rummaging for his cap on the bunk, slowly, gropingly, he walked out of the basement. He would have gone even earlier, but he was still afraid of the big dog upstairs, on the stairs, which had been howling all day at the neighbors' doors. But the dog was no longer there, and he suddenly went outside.

Lord, what a city! He had never seen anything like this before. Where he came from, it was so dark at night, there was only one lantern on the entire street. Low wooden houses are closed with shutters; on the street, as soon as it gets dark, there is no one, everyone shuts up in their homes, and only whole packs of dogs howl, hundreds and thousands of them, howl and bark all night. But there it was so warm and they gave him something to eat, but here - Lord, if only he could eat! And what a knock and thunder there is, what light and people, horses and carriages, and frost, frost! Frozen steam rises from the driven horses, from their hot breathing muzzles; Horseshoes ring on the stones through the loose snow, and everyone is pushing so hard, and, God, I really want to eat, even just a piece of something, and my fingers suddenly hurt so much. A peace officer walked by and turned away so as not to notice the boy.

Here is the street again - oh, how wide! Here they will probably be crushed like that; how they all scream, run and drive, and the light, the light! And what's that? Wow, what a big glass, and behind the glass there is a room, and in the room there is wood up to the ceiling; this is a Christmas tree, and on the tree there are so many lights, so many golden pieces of paper and apples, and all around there are dolls and little horses; and children are running around the room, dressed up, clean, laughing and playing, and eating, and drinking something. This girl started dancing with the boy, what a pretty girl! Here comes the music, you can hear it through the glass. The boy looks, marvels, and even laughs, but his fingers and toes are already hurting, and his hands have become completely red, they no longer bend and it hurts to move. And suddenly the boy remembered that his fingers hurt so much, he began to cry and ran on, and now again he sees through another glass a room, again there are trees, but on the tables there are all kinds of pies - almond, red, yellow, and four people are sitting there rich ladies, and whoever comes, they give him pies, and the door opens every minute, many gentlemen come in from the street. The boy crept up, suddenly opened the door and entered. Wow, how they shouted and waved at him! One lady quickly came up and put a penny in his hand, and she opened the door to the street for him. How scared he was! And the penny immediately rolled out and rang down the steps: he could not bend his red fingers and hold it. The boy ran out and went as quickly as possible, but he didn’t know where. He wants to cry again, but he’s too afraid, and he runs and runs and blows on his hands. And melancholy takes over him, because he suddenly felt so lonely and terrible, and suddenly, Lord! So what is this again? People are standing in a crowd and marveling: on the window behind the glass there are three dolls, small, dressed in red and green dresses and very, very lifelike! Some old man sits and seems to be playing a large violin, two others stand right there and play small violins, and shake their heads in time, and look at each other, and their lips move, as if they are talking, completely talking - only I can't hear it because of the glass. And at first the boy thought that they were alive, but when he realized that they were dolls, he suddenly laughed. He had never seen such dolls and did not know that such existed! And he wants to cry, but the dolls are so funny. Suddenly it seemed to him that someone grabbed him by the robe from behind: a big, angry boy stood nearby and suddenly hit him on the head, tore off his cap, and kicked him from below. The boy rolled to the ground, then they screamed, he was stupefied, he jumped up and ran and ran, and suddenly he ran into he doesn’t know where, into a gateway, into someone else’s yard, and sat down behind some firewood: “They won’t find anyone here, and it’s dark.”

He sat down and huddled, but he couldn’t catch his breath from fear, and suddenly, quite suddenly, he felt so good: his arms and legs suddenly stopped hurting and it became so warm, so warm, like on a stove; Now he shuddered all over: oh, but he was about to fall asleep! How nice it is to sleep here. “I’ll sit here and go look at the dolls again,” the boy thought and grinned, remembering them, “just like life!..” And suddenly he heard his mother singing a song above him. “Mom, I’m sleeping, oh, how good it is to sleep here!”

“Let’s go to my Christmas tree, boy,” a quiet voice suddenly whispered above him.

He thought it was all his mother, but no, not her; He doesn’t see who called him, but someone bent over him and hugged him in the darkness, and he extended his hand and... and suddenly - oh, what a light! Oh, what a tree! And it’s not a Christmas tree, he’s never seen such trees before! Where is he now: everything glitters, everything shines and all the dolls are around - but no, these are all boys and girls, only so bright, they all circle around him, fly, they all kiss him, take him, carry him with them, yes and he himself flies, and he sees: his mother is looking and laughing at him joyfully.

- Mother! Mother! Oh, how nice it is here, mom! - the boy shouts to her and again kisses the children, and he wants to tell them as soon as possible about those dolls behind the glass. -Who are you, boys? Who are you girls? - he asks, laughing and loving them.

“This is Christ’s Christmas tree,” they answer him. “Christ always has a Christmas tree on this day for little children who don’t have their own tree there...” And he found out that these boys and girls were all just like him, children, but some were still frozen in their baskets, in which they were thrown onto the stairs to the doors of St. Petersburg officials, others suffocated in the chukhonkas, from the orphanage while being fed, others died at the withered breasts of their mothers during the Samara famine, others suffocated in third-class carriages from the stench, and yet they are all here now, they are all now like angels, they are all with Christ, and he himself is in the midst of them, and stretches out his hands to them, and blesses them and their sinful mothers... And the mothers of these children are all standing right there, on the sidelines, and crying; everyone recognizes their boy or girl, and they fly up to them and kiss them, wipe away their tears with their hands and beg them not to cry, because they feel so good here...

And downstairs the next morning, the janitors found the small corpse of a boy who had run and frozen to collect firewood; They also found his mother... She died before him; both met with the Lord God in heaven.

And why did I compose such a story, which does not fit into an ordinary reasonable diary, especially a writer’s? And he also promised stories mainly about actual events! But that’s the point, it seems and seems to me that all this could really happen - that is, what happened in the basement and behind the firewood, and there about the Christmas tree at Christ’s - I don’t know how to tell you , could it happen or not? That's why I'm a novelist, to invent things.

1876

Before Christmas

“And why are you, my stupid baby, pressing your nose to the glass, sitting in the dark and looking into the empty frosty darkness? Come with me to where the star shines in the room,

Where the Christmas tree in the corner is decorated with bright candles, Balloons, and gifts!” —

“No, soon a star will light up in the sky. She will bring here this night, as soon as Christ is born (Yes, yes, right to these places! Yes, yes, right into this frost!), Eastern kings, wise magi, To glorify the baby Christ. And I already saw shepherds through the window! I know where the barn is! I know where the ox is! And a donkey walked down our street!”

Joseph Brodsky

Christmas star

In the cold season, in an area accustomed to heat rather than cold, to a flat surface rather than to a mountain, a baby was born in a cave to save the world: it is shallow, as only in the desert it can take revenge in winter. Everything seemed huge to him: his mother’s breasts, yellow steam from the ox’s nostrils, the Magi - Balthazar, Gaspard, Melchior; their gifts dragged in here. He was just a dot. And the dot was a star. Attentively, without blinking, through the sparse clouds, the star looked into the cave at the child lying in the manger from afar, from the depths of the Universe, from its other end. And this was the Father's gaze.

***

The Magi have arrived. The baby was fast asleep. The star was shining brightly from the sky. The cold wind shoveled the snow into a snowdrift. The sand rustled. The fire crackled at the entrance. The smoke was like a candle. The fire curled like a hook. And the shadows became shorter, then suddenly longer. No one around knew that the count of life would begin from this night. The Magi have arrived. The baby was fast asleep. Steep arches surrounded the manger. The snow was swirling. White steam swirled. The baby was lying, and the gifts were lying.

At Christmas everyone is a bit of a magician...

At Christmas everyone is a bit of a magician. There is slush and crush in food. From behind a can of coffee halva, the counter is besieged by a pile of bundles of loaded people: each is his own king and camel.

Nets, bags, string bags, bags, hats, ties, knocked to one side. The smell of vodka, pine and cod, tangerines, cinnamon and apples. There is a chaos of faces, and the path to Bethlehem is not visible due to the snow pellets.

And the peddlers of modest gifts jump into the transport, break in the doors, disappear into the gaps of the courtyards, even knowing that the cave is empty: no animals, no manger, no She above Whom there is a golden halo.

Emptiness. But when you think about her, you suddenly see a light from nowhere. Herod would have known that the stronger he is, the surer, more inevitable the miracle. The constancy of such kinship is the main mechanism of Christmas.

That is why they are celebrating His approach everywhere today, moving all the tables. Not the need for a star, let alone, but the good will in people is visible from afar, and the shepherds lit the fires.

It's snowing; They don’t smoke, but the roof chimneys blow. All faces are like spots. Herod drinks. The women are hiding the boys. Nobody knows who is coming: we don’t know the signs, and hearts may suddenly not recognize the stranger.

But when, in a draft of a door, a figure in a scarf appears from the thick fog of the night, you feel both the Child and the Holy Spirit within yourself without shame; you look into the sky and see a star.

Konstantin Fofanov

Congratulations in verse on the bright holiday of Christmas

Happy Christmas! There is no happier celebration! On the night of Christ’s birth, a Star lit up above the earth.

Since then, through the centuries, it shines on us like the sun. Warms the soul with faith, So that the world becomes more beautiful, better.

Gives sparkles of magic Happy Christmas! Peace comes to every home... Merry Christmas!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Here comes Christmas again - the triumph of the heavenly powers: On this day Christ came to save our world from evil.

Eternal glory to Him, the Conqueror of darkness. We congratulate you with all our hearts on this great joy.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Congratulations with grace on the bright holiday of Christmas. This night we are all, like children, waiting for magic from the sky. The star of Bethlehem will show our expectations as a reward and will always help us.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Let grievances and losses fly away like leaves! Let luck enter the door on the bright holiday of Christmas!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Let's forgive each other's insults, Let's look at the heights of the sky, Let's leave our hearts open for love, Let's wait for the star of Bethlehem.

Let us celebrate the Nativity of Christ in solemn and kind silence, and let us listen to every word with which He comes to you and me...

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Walking silently on the white snow, Christmas rushes to bestow goodness on everyone. It will look into every yard or house - And happiness will come to any person.

And immediately the frost will recede from the heart, The eyes will shine like bright stars. Let the holiday come.

And it will become possible that the most important things will soon come true.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I’ll tell you a big secret - fairy tales in our lives have no end. And if Christmas comes, It gives us a celebration like fairy tales!

For them, open the door in your heart, go towards happiness and love, light the Christmas candles and humbly invite joy to visit!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christmas is just around the corner, the lights are shining brightly. I wish you a lot of happiness and love in this house.

May an Angel descend into your home with the Christmas star, and with a divine hand help you with affection and kindness.

So that through the snow avalanche you feel the light of the sun, so that the warmth does not leave you, and there is no evil or troubles.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

On the Holy Night of Christ's Nativity In your soul, prepare a manger for the Baby, And invite the Innocent Child to dwell forever in your heart...

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Only the best should be wished for your loved ones on Christmas Day! I want to tell you -

May happiness live with you Every hour and every year, And may success in everything await you on your path!

***

Those stars had not yet extinguished, The dawn was still shining, That illuminated the manger of the Newborn Christ to the world Then, led by a star, Alienated by the murmur of rumors, Magi flocked to Christ in a reverent crowd... They came from the distant East, Carrying gifts with the delight of dreams, And was saved from Herod’s eye sovereign Christ. Centuries have passed... And He is crucified, But still alive He walks, like a herald of truth, Through our worldly pasture; He goes on, still abundant in holy things, truth and goodness, and strong Herod will not overcome him with his treacherous sword...

Boris Pasternak

Christmas star

It was winter. The wind was blowing from the steppe. And it was cold for the baby in the den on the hillside. The breath of the ox warmed him. Domestic animals stood in the cave, a warm haze floated above the manger. Having shaken off the dust of the bed and the grains of millet, the shepherds looked from the sleepy cliff into the midnight distance. In the distance there was a field in the snow and a graveyard, fences, gravestones, a shaft in a snowdrift, and the sky above the cemetery full of stars. And nearby, unknown before, Shy than a bowl At the window of the gatehouse, a star twinkled on the way to Bethlehem. She blazed like a haystack, away from heaven and God, like the reflection of arson, like a farm on fire and a fire on a threshing floor. She rose like a burning stack of straw and hay in the midst of the whole universe, alarmed by this new star. The growing glow glowed above her And meant something, And three stargazers Hastened to the call of unprecedented lights. They were followed by gifts on camels. And the donkeys in harness, one smaller than the other, walked down the mountain in small steps. And like a strange vision of the coming time, everything that came after stood up in the distance. All the thoughts of centuries, all dreams, all worlds, All the future of galleries and museums, All the pranks of fairies, all the deeds of sorcerers, All the Christmas trees in the world, all the dreams of children. All the trembling of warmed candles, all the chains, All the splendor of colored tinsel... ... The wind blew from the steppe angrier and more fiercely... ... All the apples, all the golden balls. Part of the pond was hidden by the tops of alder trees, but part of it was clearly visible from here through the nests of rooks and the tops of trees. The shepherds could clearly see how the donkeys and camels walked along the dam. “Let’s go with everyone, let’s worship the miracle,” they said, wrapping their covers around them. The shuffling through the snow made it hot. Through the bright clearing, sheets of mica led barefoot footprints behind the hut. The shepherds grumbled at these traces, like at the flame of a cinder, in the light of a star. The frosty night was like a fairy tale, and someone from a snowy ridge was always invisibly entering their ranks. The dogs wandered, looking around with apprehension, and huddled close to the shepherd, and waited for trouble. Along the same road through the same area, several angels walked in the thick of the crowd. Their incorporeality made them invisible, But the step left a footprint. A crowd of people was crowding around the stone. It was getting light. Cedar trunks appeared. - Who are you? - asked Maria. - We are a shepherd tribe and ambassadors of heaven, We have come to praise you both. - We can’t do it all together. Wait at the entrance. In the midst of the ash-gray pre-dawn darkness, drovers and sheep breeders trampled, pedestrians quarreled with horsemen, Camels brayed and donkeys kicked at the hollowed-out watering hole. It was getting light. Dawn, like specks of ash, swept away the last stars from the sky. And only the Magi from the countless rabble did Mary let into the hole in the rock. He slept, all shining, in an oak manger, Like a ray of the moon in the hollow of a hollow. Instead of a sheepskin coat, he had the lips of a donkey and the nostrils of an ox. They stood in the shadows, as if in the darkness of a barn, whispering, barely finding the words. Suddenly, someone in the darkness, a little to the left, pushed the sorcerer away from the manger with his hand, and he looked back: from the threshold at the Virgin, like a guest, the star of the Nativity was looking.

Mikhail Kuzmin

Nikolai Semenovich Leskov (1831-1895)

Christ visiting a man

Christmas story

Dedicated to Christian children

I heard the real story about how Christ himself came to visit a peasant at Christmas and what he taught him from one old Siberian, who was intimately familiar with this event. What he told me, I will convey in his own words.

* * *

Our place is populated, but a good shopping place. My father arrived in our direction from Russia during the serfdom, and I was born here. We were happy with our situation and now we are not in poverty. We keep our faith simple, Russian. My father was well-read and encouraged me to read. The man who loved science was my first friend, and I was ready to go through thick and thin for him. And then one day the Lord sent me to console my friend Timofey Osipov, about whom I want to tell you how a miracle happened to him.

Timofey Osipov came to us in his young years. I was then eighteen years old, and he was maybe in his mid-twenties. Timosha's behavior was most shameless. Why he came to the settlement on trial - in our position, sparing a person, they don’t ask about this, but it was heard that his uncle had offended him. He was his guardian during his orphanhood and squandered, or took, almost all of his inheritance. And Timofey Osipov at that time was impatient due to his young years, he and his uncle had a quarrel, and he hit his uncle with a weapon. By the mercy of the Creator, the sin of this madness was not completely committed - Timofey only wounded his uncle through and through in the arm. Due to Timofey’s youth, he did not receive a greater punishment, as from the first guild merchants he was exiled to our settlement.

Although nine parts of the Timoshino estate were plundered, it was still possible to live with a tenth part. He built a house with us and began to live, but resentment was seething in his soul, and for a long time he avoided everyone. He always sat at home, and only the farmhand and the farmhand saw him, and at home he read all the books, and the most divine ones. Finally, we met him, precisely because of the books, and I began to go to him, and he received me willingly. We came after each other's hearts.

* * *

At first my parents didn’t really let me see him. He seemed wise to them. They said: “It is unknown what he is like and why he is hiding from everyone. No matter how bad I teach you.” But I, being submissive to my parents’ will, told them the truth, my father and mother, that I don’t hear anything bad from Timothy, but we are busy reading books together and talking about faith, how we must live according to the holy will of God, so that the image of the Creator in ourselves do not drop or dishonor. They began to let me sit with Timofey as much as I wanted, and my father went to see him himself, and then Timofey Osipov came to us. My old people saw that he was a good man, and fell in love with him, and began to really regret that he was often gloomy. If he remembers his insult, or especially if he says even one word about his uncle, he will turn pale and then walk around confused and give up. Then he doesn’t want to read, and in his eyes, instead of the usual kindness, there is anger burning. He was exemplary in honesty and smart, but he didn’t get involved in business out of sadness. But the Lord soon helped his boredom: my sister came after his heart, he married her and stopped being bored, but began to live and get by and make good things, and at the age of ten he became seen by everyone as the most important person. The house looked like a good mansion: everyone was full, there was plenty of everything, and everyone respected him, and the wife was kind, and the children were healthy. What else do you need? It seems that all the past grief can be forgotten, but he, however, still remembered his offense, and once, when we were riding together in a cart and talking in all good humor, I asked him:

- How, brother Timosha, are you happy with everything now?

“In what sense,” he asks, “does this mean?”

– Do you have everything that you lost in your place?

And now he turned completely pale and didn’t answer a word, he just rode his horse in silence. Then I apologized.

“You,” I say, “brother, forgive me for asking so... I thought that the hard times had long ago... passed and been forgotten.”

“There’s no need,” he replies, “that it’s long ago... passed - it’s passed, but I still remember it...”

I felt sorry for him, but not from the side that he had ever had more, but that he was in such a dark place: he knows the Holy Scripture and knows how to speak well about faith, but he keeps such a strong memory for offense. This means that his holy word is of no use.

I thought about it, because in everything I considered myself smarter than him and I thought from him to use good reasoning, but he remembers evil... He noticed this and said:

– What do you think now?

“And so,” I say, “I think it’s horrible.”

– No: you’re thinking about me.

- And I think about you.

- What do you mean about me, as you understand?

“Don’t be angry, that’s what I thought about you.” You know the Scripture, but your heart is angry and does not submit to God. Is the Scripture of any use to you through this?

Timofey did not become angry, but only sadly darkened his face and answered:

– You are not competent to carry out the holy word.

“This,” I say, “is your truth, I don’t know.”

“You’re not knowledgeable,” he says, “and what kind of grievances there are in the world.”

I agreed to his surrender in this too, and he began to say that there are such insults that cannot be tolerated - and he told me that he was not so angry with his uncle for money, but for something else that cannot be forgotten.

“I would like to remain silent about this for a century, but now,” he says, “I will open up to you as my friend.”

I speak:

– If it can benefit you, open up.

And he revealed to me that his uncle mortally upset his father, brought his mother to the grave with grief, slandered him and, in his old age, flattered and with threats forced some people to marry for him, the old man, a young girl whom Timosha had loved since childhood and always I was disposed to take him as a wife.

“Can all this be forgiven,” he says? I will never forgive him for the life of me.

“Well, yes,” I answer, “your offense is great, it’s true, and the fact that the Holy Scripture does not benefit you is not a lie.”

And he again reminds me that I am weaker than him in Scripture, and begins to explain how in the Old Testament the holy men themselves did not spare the wicked and even killed them with their own hands. He, the poor man, wanted to justify his conscience to me with this.

And in my simplicity, I answered him simply.

“Timosha,” I say, “you’re a smart guy, you’re well-read and know everything, and I can’t answer against you according to the Scriptures.” I’ll tell you what I read, I don’t understand everything, because I’m a sinful person and have a small mind. However, I will tell you: in the Old Testament everything is ancient and somehow ripples in the mind in a dual way, but in the New it stands out more clearly. There, “Love and Forgive” shines above everything, and this is more valuable than anything, like a golden key that opens every lock. But what is there to forgive, is it really some minor offense, and not the biggest fault?

He is silent.

Then I thought in my mind: “Lord! Wouldn’t it please Your will to speak a word through me to the soul of my brother?” And I say how Christ was beaten, offended, spat on, and established in such a way that there was no place for Him alone anywhere, but He forgave everyone.

“Follow,” I say, “it’s better to follow this, and not the vengeful custom.”

And he went to give great interpretations, as someone wrote that to forgive something else is supposedly the same as to multiply evil.

I couldn’t refute this, but I only said:

“I’m afraid that “many books make you crazy.” You, I say, take up arms against yourself. As long as you remember evil, evil is alive, and let it die, then your soul will also live.

Timofey listened to me and squeezed my hand tightly, but did not speak extensively, but said briefly:

- I can’t, leave it - it’s hard for me.

I left. I knew that he was in pain and was silent, and time passed, and another six years passed, and during all this time I watched him and saw that he was still suffering and that if he was allowed to be completely free and if he reached where - his uncle - he will forget all Scripture and work for the vengeful Satan. But in my heart I was at peace, because I saw the finger of God here. He has already begun to show himself little by little, so, surely, we’ll see the whole hand. The Lord will save my friend from the sin of anger. But it happened quite surprisingly.

* * *

Now Timofey has been in exile with us for sixteen years, and fifteen years have passed since he was married. He was, therefore, thirty-seven or eight years old, and he had three children and lived well. He especially loved rose flowers and had a lot of them on his windows and in his front garden. The entire area in front of the house was covered with roses, and through their scent the whole house was incense.

And Timofey had such a habit that, as the sun was approaching sunset, he would certainly go out into his garden and groom his roses himself and read a book on the bench. More, as far as I know, it was that he often prayed here.

In exactly the same order, he came here one day and took the Gospel with him. He looked at the roses, and then sat down, opened the book and began to read. He reads how Christ came to visit a Pharisee and was not even given water to wash his feet. And Timothy became unbearably offended for the Lord and felt sorry for Him. It was such a pity that he cried over how this rich host treated his holy guest. It was here, at that very moment, that the miracle that Timosha told me about happened:

“I look,” he says, “around me and think: what abundance and contentment I have in everything, and my Lord walked in such value and humiliation... And all my eyes were filled with tears, and I can’t blink them away; and everything around me turned pink, even my tears. So, like oblivion or fainting, and I exclaimed: “Lord! If You came to me, I would give myself to You.”

And suddenly, in response, from somewhere, like in a pink breeze, breathed:

- I’ll come!

Timofey ran to me with trepidation and asked:

- How do you understand this: can the Lord really come to visit me?

I answer:

- This, brother, is beyond my understanding. How about this, is it possible to discern anything in Scripture?

And Timofey says:

“The Scripture says: “Christ is still the same now and forever,” I dare not not believe.

“Well,” I say, “believe it.”

“I order that the device be placed on his table every day.”

I shrugged my shoulders and answered:

- Don’t ask me, see for yourself that what is pleasing to His will can be, and by the way, I don’t consider the device to be an offense to Him, but isn’t it proud?

“It is said,” he says, ““this sinner receives and eats with publicans.”

“And even then,” I answer, “it is said: “Lord! I am not worthy for You to come into my house.” I like that too.

Timofey says:

- You do not know.

- Okay, have it your way.

* * *

Timofey ordered his wife to set up an extra seat at the table the very next day. When five people sit down at the table - he, his wife, and three children - they always have the sixth place at the end of the table of honor, and in front of it is a large chair.

My wife was curious: what is this, what is it for and for whom? But Timofey did not reveal everything to her. He only told his wife and others that this was necessary according to his sincere promise “for the first guest,” but no one knew the real one except him and me.

Timothy waited for the Savior the day after the word in the rose garden, waited on the third day, then on the first Sunday - but these expectations were not fulfilled. His expectations were still long: on every holiday, Timothy kept waiting for Christ to visit him and was exhausted with anxiety, but did not weaken in the hope that the Lord would keep His promise - he would come. Timothy revealed to me that “every day,” he says, “I pray: “Hey, come, Lord!” - and I wait, but I don’t hear the desired answer: “Hey, I’m coming soon!”

My mind was at a loss as to what to answer Timofey, and often I thought that my friend had become proud and was now getting confused in a vain seduction. However, God's view of this was different.

* * *

Christmas has come. It was a bitter winter. Timofey comes to me on Christmas Eve and says:

- Dear brother, tomorrow I will wait for the Lord.

I had been unresponsive to these speeches for a long time, and then I just asked:

- What assurance do you have of this?

“Now,” he answers, “I just prayed: “Hey, come, Lord!” - how my whole soul stirred up and inside it, as if a trumpet was blowing: “Hey, I’m coming soon!” Tomorrow is His Holy Nativity - and is it not on this day that He will come? Come to me with all your relatives, otherwise my soul will tremble with fear.

I speak:

- Timosha! You know that I don’t know how to judge anything and I don’t expect to see the Lord, because I am a sinner, but you are our own man - we will come to you. And if you are confidently awaiting such a great guest, do not invite your friends, but make a pleasing partnership with Him.

“I understand,” he answers, “and now I will send those serving me and my son to go around the villages and call all the exiles - who are in need and in distress.” The Lord will show wondrous mercy - he will grant, so he will meet everyone according to the commandment.

I didn’t like that word either.

“Timothy,” I say, “who can establish everything according to the commandment?” You don’t understand one thing, you’ll forget another, and you can’t do a third. However, if all this “trumpets” so strongly in your soul, then let it be as it is revealed to you. If the Lord comes, He will replenish everything that is missing, and if you forget whom He needs, He will bring what is missing.

Vintage Christmas card

We came to Timofey on Christmas Day with the whole family, later, as one would go to a dinner party. So he called to wait for everyone. They found his large mansions full of people of all sorts of Nashensky, Siberian, and exiled clans. Men and women and the children's generation, of every rank and from different places - Russian, Poles, and Chukhon faith. Timofey gathered all the poor settlers who had not yet recovered from their farms since their arrival. The tables are large, covered with tablecloths and everything you need. Farm workers are running around, placing kvass and bowls of pies. And it was already getting dark outside, and there was no one else to wait: all the ambassadors had returned home and the guests had nowhere else to be, because a blizzard and blizzard had risen in the yard, like the end of the world.

There is only one guest, who is dearer than everyone else.

It was necessary to light the fires and sit down at the table, because it was getting completely dark, and we were all waiting in the twilight with only the small light from the lamps in front of the icons.

Timofey walked and sat, and was apparently in grave anxiety. All his hope was shaken: it was now obvious that the “great guest” would not be there.

Another minute passed, and Timofey sighed, looked at me sadly and said:

- Well, dear brother, I see that either the Lord wants to leave me in ridicule, or you are right: I did not know how to gather everyone who was needed to meet Him. Let it be God’s will for everything: let’s pray and sit down at the table.

I answer:

- Read the prayer.

He stood in front of the icon and read aloud: “Our Father, who art in heaven,” and then: “Christ is born, glorify.” Christ from Heaven, hide it. Christ on earth..."

And as soon as he uttered this word, something suddenly hit the wall from the courtyard so terribly that everything even shook, and then immediately a noise echoed through the wide entryway, and suddenly the doors to the upper room opened wide of their own accord.

* * *

All the people there were, in indescribable fear, retreated into one corner, and many fell, and only those who were braver than all looked at the doors. And in the door on the threshold stood an old, old old man, all in thin rags, trembling and, in order not to fall, holding on to the ceiling with both hands; and from behind him, from the entryway, where it was dark, an indescribable pink light shines, and over the old man’s shoulder, a hand as white as snow comes forward into the mansion, and in it is a long clay bowl with fire - the same as at Nicodemus’ conversation it is written... The wind and blizzard are tearing from the courtyard, but the fire does not stir... And this fire shines in the old man’s face and on his hand, and on his hand an overgrown old scar, all white from the cold, catches his eye.

Timofey, when he saw this, cried out:

- God! I see and accept him in your name, but you yourself do not come to me: I am an evil and sinful person. “Yes, and with that I bowed with my face to the ground.” And with him I fell to the ground with joy, that he was touched by true Christian submission; and exclaimed out loud to everyone:

– Let us remember: Christ is among us!

And everyone answered:

- Amen, - that is true.

* * *

Then the fire was brought in; Timofey and I stood up from the floor, but the white hand was no longer visible - only one old man remained.

Timofey stood up, took him by both hands and seated him in the first place. And who he was, this old man, maybe you can guess for yourself: it was Timofey’s enemy - the uncle who ruined him. In brief words, he said that everything had gone to waste for him: he had lost both his family and his wealth, and had been walking for a long time to find his nephew and ask for his forgiveness. And he longed for this, and was afraid of Timothy’s wrath, but in this blizzard he lost his way and, freezing, hoped for one death.

“But suddenly,” he says, “someone unknown shone around me and said: “Go, warm yourself in My place and eat from My cup,” took me by both hands, and I stood here, I don’t know when.

And Timofey answered in front of everyone:

“I, uncle, know your guide: it is the Lord who said: “If your enemy is hungry, give him food; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.” Sit in my first place - eat and drink to His glory and be in my house with all your will until the end of your life.

From that time on, the old man remained with Timothy and, dying, blessed him, and Timothy became forever at peace in his heart.

Christmas tree (excerpt)

Do you remember Christmas Eve from childhood, This children's day of days? The fresh spruce tree smells of tar from the unlocked entryway.

People are calling from the shops, Nanny often comes downstairs, And in the kitchen there is boiled almond rice in a flat dish.

The sun burns like an apple behind the pattern of icy paws. Mom is tidying things up and the treasured closet is creaking.

Everything in the hall is extraordinary, No one is allowed in, Ah, the agreed upon secret! Everything is known, everything is new!

The new sailor suit is pulling, its shoulders are wrinkled. The light stripe in the door is so temptingly visible!

In the paraffin glow Will the door open soon? This sweetness of expectation has not passed yet.

Alexey Pleshcheev

Christmas time will come again soon - New Year again

Poems about Christmas and New Year by Russian classical poets

Christmas tree (excerpt)

Do you remember Christmas Eve from childhood, This children's day of days? The fresh spruce tree smells of tar from the unlocked entryway.

People are calling from the shops, Nanny often comes downstairs, And in the kitchen there is boiled almond rice in a flat dish.

The sun burns like an apple behind the pattern of icy paws. Mom is tidying things up and the treasured closet is creaking.

Everything in the hall is extraordinary, No one is allowed in, Ah, the agreed upon secret! Everything is known, everything is new!

The new sailor suit is pulling, its shoulders are wrinkled. The light stripe in the door is so temptingly visible!

In the paraffin glow Will the door open soon? This sweetness of expectation has not passed yet. Mikhail Kuzmin

New Year

Like a belated fisherman in the sea Among the raging swells, Like a tired traveler at night In the dissolute latitude of the steppes, So in this land desert I make my wrong move. Oh, will it be better for me than now? What do you promise me, New Year? But you stand so silently, Like a shadow in the silence of a cemetery, And to the impatient question, Not a word, not a smile to me... Fyodor Glinka

For winter

The forest has become completely drafty, leaves are rare in it to fall from heights. He will close down our windows, in the nursery and everywhere. The stars will light up more beautifully. The ice will cling to the water. Let's start skating. We're on clear ice. Our laughter will be heard in the park on the pond. And in the quiet of the rooms - hide and seek, Even and odd - counting. And then Christmastide will come, New Year again. Konstantin Balmont

On New Year's Eve

Minutes years. Our time will become an old fairy tale, a delirium of bygone days; We will disappear like the former tribe, But in the morning the same stars will appear. December snow will turn silver in the darkness; The same ringings cut the fresh air, Spreading the call of churches to the earth; It will foam again in the glasses, scattering sparks, burning wine; In modest rooms and magnificent halls, At the stroke of midnight, one sound is heard: “Happy New Year!” With new happiness!" - A chorus of cheerful voices will ring out together... Life will be like the foam of wine, pearly, The coming year will be like a love call. Valery Bryusov

For the New Year (excerpt)

Having cut the bluish vault of heaven with a fiery path, the crimson clothed with the dawn, the New Year descended to earth; He came down and voices rang out, Dreams and hopes rushed towards this deity... Gabriel Derzhavin

Truly, this Christmas does wonders for people! Arkady Averchenko

Christmas tree at school

The school is noisy, you can hear the running and noise of children... You know, they are not gathered in it today for learning.

No, the Christmas tree is lit today; She delights the children with the diversity of her elegant clothes.

Toys beckon to a child's eye: Here are horses, there is a top, Here is a railway, Here is a hunting horn. And the lanterns, and the stars,

That diamonds burn! Golden nuts! Transparent grapes! May you be blessed

You, whose kind hand Chose this Christmas tree For the little ones!.. Rarely, rarely does bright joy illuminate their days, And all year long they will dream of bright Christmas trees.

Alexey Khomyakov

"The Gift of the Magi", O'Henry

To give a treasure to a loved one, you don’t have to be fabulously rich: the true value of a gift is measured by the power of love that is invested in it. O'Henry told a Christmas story "about two stupid children from an eight-dollar apartment who most unwisely sacrificed their greatest treasures for each other. But let it be said for the edification of the sages of our day that of all the donors these two were the wisest.”

One dollar eighty seven cents. And tomorrow is Christmas. The only thing that could be done here was to plop down on the old couch and cry. That's exactly what Della did. This suggests a philosophical conclusion that life consists of tears, sighs and smiles, with sighs predominating.

***

That night the Earth was in turmoil: The brilliance of a large, outlandish star suddenly blinded mountains and villages, cities, deserts and gardens.

And in the desert the lionesses watched, How, marvelous and full of gifts, The chariots moved silently, Camels and elephants walked importantly.

And in the brow of a large caravan, with their eyes fixed on the sky, three kings in intricate turbans rode to bow to someone.

And in the cave, where the torches did not go out all night, blinking and smoking, - There the lambs saw in the manger a sleeping beautiful Child.

That night, all creation was in excitement, Birds sang in the midnight darkness, Announcing goodwill to everyone, The coming of peace on earth.