41.A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn,Wherein the Son of heaven’s eternal King,Of wedded Maid and Virgin-Mother born,Our great redemption from above did bring;For so the holy sages once did sing,That He our deadly forfeit should release,And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.That glorious form, that light unsufferable,And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,Wherewith He wont at heaven’s high council-tableTo sit the midst of Trinal Unity,He laid aside; and, here with us to be,Forsook the courts of everlasting day,And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred veinAfford a present to the Infant God?Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,To welcome Him to this His new abode,Now while the heaven, by the sun’s team untrod,Hath took no print of the approaching light,And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?See, how from far, upon the eastern road,The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet;O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,And lay it lowly at His blessed feet;Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,From out His secret altar touch’d with hallow’d fire.THE HYMNIt was the winter wild,While the heaven-born ChildAll meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;Nature in awe to Him,Had doff’d her gaudy trim,With her great Master so to sympathize:It was no season then for herTo wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.Only with speeches fair,She woos the gentle airTo hide her guilty front with innocent snow,And on her naked shame,Pollute with sinful blame,The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw;Confounded, that her Maker’s eyesShould look so near upon her foul deformities.But He, her fears to cease,Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;She, crown’d with olive green, came softly slidingDown through the turning sphere,His ready harbinger,With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;And waving wide her myrtle wand,She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.No war, or battle’s sound,Was heard the world around:The idle spear and shield were high up-hung,The hooked chariot stoodUnstain’d with hostile blood;The trumpet spake not to the armed throng,And kings sat still with awful eye,As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.But peaceful was the nightWherein the Prince of LightHis reign of peace upon the earth began:The winds with wonder whistSmoothly the waters kist,Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,Who now hath quite forgot to rave,While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.The stars with deep amazeStand fix’d in steadfast gaze,Bending one way their precious influence.And will not take their flightFor all the morning light,Or Lucifer that often warn’d them thence;But in their glimmering orbs did glow,Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.And though the shady gloomHad given day her room,The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,And hid his head for shame,As his inferior flameThe new enlighten’d world no more should need;He saw a greater Sun appearThan his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear.The shepherds on the lawn,Or ere the point of dawn,Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;Full little thought they thenThat the mighty PanWas kindly come to live with them below;Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.When such music sweetTheir hearts and ears did greet,As never was by mortal finger strook;Divinely-warbled voiceAnswering the stringed noise,As all their souls in blissful rapture took:The air such pleasure loth to lose,With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.Nature that heard such sound,Beneath the hollow roundOf Cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling,Now was almost wonTo think her part was done,And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;She knew such harmony aloneCould hold all heaven and earth in happier union.At last surrounds their sightA globe of circular light,That with long beams the shamefac’d night array’d,The helmed Cherubim,And sworded Seraphim,Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display’d,Harping in loud and solemn quire,With unexpressive notes to Heaven’s new-born Heir.Such music (as ’tis said)Before was never made,But when of old the sons of morning sung,While the Creator greatHis constellations set,And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,And cast the dark foundations deep,And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.Ring out, ye crystal spheres,Once bless our human ears,(If ye have power to touch our senses so;)And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time,And let the base of heaven’s deep organ blow;And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full consort to th’ angelic symphony.For if such holy songEnwrap our fancy long,Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;And speckled VanityWill sicken soon and die,And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;And Hell itself will pass away,And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.Yea, Truth and Justice thenWill down return to men,Orb’d in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,Mercy will sit between,Thron’d in celestial sheen,With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;And heaven, as at some festival,Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.But wisest Fate says no,This must not yet be so,The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy,That on the bitter crossMust redeem our loss;So both Himself and us to glorify:Yet first to those ychain’d in sleep,The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,With such a horrid clangAs on Mount Sinai rang.While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:The aged earth aghastWith terror of that blast,Shall from the surface to the centre shake;When at the world’s last session,The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.And then at last our blissFull and perfect is,But now begins; for from this happy dayThe old dragon under groundIn straiter limits bound,Not half so far casts his usurped sway,And wroth to see his kingdom fail,Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.The oracles are dumb,No voice or hideous humRuns through the arched roof in words deceivingApollo from his shrineCan no more divine,With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.No nightly trance, or breathed spell,Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.The lonely mountains o’er,And the resounding shore,A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;From haunted spring and dale,Edg’d with poplar pale,The parting Genius is with sighing sent;With flower-inwoven tresses torn,The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.In consecrated earthAnd on the holy hearthThe Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;In urns and altars round,A drear and dying soundAffrights the Flamens at their service quaint;And the chill marble seems to sweat,While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.Peor and BaälimForsake their temples dim,With that twice batter’d god of Palestine;And mooned Ashtaroth,Heaven’s queen and mother both,Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine;The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.And sullen Moloch, fled,Hath left in shadows dreadHis burning idol all of blackest hue;In vain with cymbals’ ringThey call the grisly king,In dismal dance about the furnace blue;The brutish gods of Nile as fast,Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.Nor is Osiris seenIn Memphian grove or green,Trampling the unshower’d grass with lowings loud:Nor can he be at restWithin his sacred chest,Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud;In vain with timbrell’d anthems darkThe sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.He feels from Juda’s landThe dreaded Infant’s hand;The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;Nor all the gods besideLonger dare abide,Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:Our Babe, to show His Godhead true,Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew.So when the sun in bed,Curtain’d with cloudy red,Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,The flocking shadows paleTroop to th’ infernal jail;Each fetter’d ghost slips to his several grave,And the yellow-skirted FaysFly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.But see the Virgin blestHath laid her Babe to rest;Time is our tedious song should here have ending,Heaven’s youngest-teemed starHath fix’d her polish’d car,Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending:And all about the courtly stableBright-harness’d angels sit in order serviceable.John Milton

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn,

Wherein the Son of heaven’s eternal King,

Of wedded Maid and Virgin-Mother born,

Our great redemption from above did bring;

For so the holy sages once did sing,

That He our deadly forfeit should release,

And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious form, that light unsufferable,And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,Wherewith He wont at heaven’s high council-tableTo sit the midst of Trinal Unity,He laid aside; and, here with us to be,Forsook the courts of everlasting day,And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

That glorious form, that light unsufferable,

And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,

Wherewith He wont at heaven’s high council-table

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and, here with us to be,

Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred veinAfford a present to the Infant God?Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,To welcome Him to this His new abode,Now while the heaven, by the sun’s team untrod,Hath took no print of the approaching light,And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,

To welcome Him to this His new abode,

Now while the heaven, by the sun’s team untrod,

Hath took no print of the approaching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See, how from far, upon the eastern road,The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet;O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,And lay it lowly at His blessed feet;Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,From out His secret altar touch’d with hallow’d fire.

See, how from far, upon the eastern road,

The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet;

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,

And lay it lowly at His blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,

From out His secret altar touch’d with hallow’d fire.

THE HYMN

It was the winter wild,While the heaven-born ChildAll meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;Nature in awe to Him,Had doff’d her gaudy trim,With her great Master so to sympathize:It was no season then for herTo wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

It was the winter wild,

While the heaven-born Child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;

Nature in awe to Him,

Had doff’d her gaudy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize:

It was no season then for her

To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

Only with speeches fair,She woos the gentle airTo hide her guilty front with innocent snow,And on her naked shame,Pollute with sinful blame,The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw;Confounded, that her Maker’s eyesShould look so near upon her foul deformities.

Only with speeches fair,

She woos the gentle air

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,

And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw;

Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But He, her fears to cease,Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;She, crown’d with olive green, came softly slidingDown through the turning sphere,His ready harbinger,With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;And waving wide her myrtle wand,She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

But He, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;

She, crown’d with olive green, came softly sliding

Down through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;

And waving wide her myrtle wand,

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

No war, or battle’s sound,Was heard the world around:The idle spear and shield were high up-hung,The hooked chariot stoodUnstain’d with hostile blood;The trumpet spake not to the armed throng,And kings sat still with awful eye,As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

No war, or battle’s sound,

Was heard the world around:

The idle spear and shield were high up-hung,

The hooked chariot stood

Unstain’d with hostile blood;

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng,

And kings sat still with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

But peaceful was the nightWherein the Prince of LightHis reign of peace upon the earth began:The winds with wonder whistSmoothly the waters kist,Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,Who now hath quite forgot to rave,While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

But peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began:

The winds with wonder whist

Smoothly the waters kist,

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

The stars with deep amazeStand fix’d in steadfast gaze,Bending one way their precious influence.And will not take their flightFor all the morning light,Or Lucifer that often warn’d them thence;But in their glimmering orbs did glow,Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.

The stars with deep amaze

Stand fix’d in steadfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence.

And will not take their flight

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warn’d them thence;

But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.

And though the shady gloomHad given day her room,The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,And hid his head for shame,As his inferior flameThe new enlighten’d world no more should need;He saw a greater Sun appearThan his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear.

And though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

And hid his head for shame,

As his inferior flame

The new enlighten’d world no more should need;

He saw a greater Sun appear

Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear.

The shepherds on the lawn,Or ere the point of dawn,Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;Full little thought they thenThat the mighty PanWas kindly come to live with them below;Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

The shepherds on the lawn,

Or ere the point of dawn,

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;

Full little thought they then

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly come to live with them below;

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

When such music sweetTheir hearts and ears did greet,As never was by mortal finger strook;Divinely-warbled voiceAnswering the stringed noise,As all their souls in blissful rapture took:The air such pleasure loth to lose,With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

When such music sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger strook;

Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took:

The air such pleasure loth to lose,

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

Nature that heard such sound,Beneath the hollow roundOf Cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling,Now was almost wonTo think her part was done,And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;She knew such harmony aloneCould hold all heaven and earth in happier union.

Nature that heard such sound,

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling,

Now was almost won

To think her part was done,

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;

She knew such harmony alone

Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union.

At last surrounds their sightA globe of circular light,That with long beams the shamefac’d night array’d,The helmed Cherubim,And sworded Seraphim,Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display’d,Harping in loud and solemn quire,With unexpressive notes to Heaven’s new-born Heir.

At last surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light,

That with long beams the shamefac’d night array’d,

The helmed Cherubim,

And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display’d,

Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes to Heaven’s new-born Heir.

Such music (as ’tis said)Before was never made,But when of old the sons of morning sung,While the Creator greatHis constellations set,And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,And cast the dark foundations deep,And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

Such music (as ’tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung,

While the Creator great

His constellations set,

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,Once bless our human ears,(If ye have power to touch our senses so;)And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time,And let the base of heaven’s deep organ blow;And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full consort to th’ angelic symphony.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,

Once bless our human ears,

(If ye have power to touch our senses so;)

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time,

And let the base of heaven’s deep organ blow;

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort to th’ angelic symphony.

For if such holy songEnwrap our fancy long,Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;And speckled VanityWill sicken soon and die,And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;And Hell itself will pass away,And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

For if such holy song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;

And speckled Vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;

And Hell itself will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

Yea, Truth and Justice thenWill down return to men,Orb’d in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,Mercy will sit between,Thron’d in celestial sheen,With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;And heaven, as at some festival,Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.

Yea, Truth and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Orb’d in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,

Mercy will sit between,

Thron’d in celestial sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;

And heaven, as at some festival,

Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.

But wisest Fate says no,This must not yet be so,The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy,That on the bitter crossMust redeem our loss;So both Himself and us to glorify:Yet first to those ychain’d in sleep,The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

But wisest Fate says no,

This must not yet be so,

The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy,

That on the bitter cross

Must redeem our loss;

So both Himself and us to glorify:

Yet first to those ychain’d in sleep,

The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

With such a horrid clangAs on Mount Sinai rang.While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:The aged earth aghastWith terror of that blast,Shall from the surface to the centre shake;When at the world’s last session,The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

With such a horrid clang

As on Mount Sinai rang.

While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:

The aged earth aghast

With terror of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the centre shake;

When at the world’s last session,

The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

And then at last our blissFull and perfect is,But now begins; for from this happy dayThe old dragon under groundIn straiter limits bound,Not half so far casts his usurped sway,And wroth to see his kingdom fail,Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day

The old dragon under ground

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway,

And wroth to see his kingdom fail,

Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

The oracles are dumb,No voice or hideous humRuns through the arched roof in words deceivingApollo from his shrineCan no more divine,With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.No nightly trance, or breathed spell,Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

The oracles are dumb,

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving

Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

The lonely mountains o’er,And the resounding shore,A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;From haunted spring and dale,Edg’d with poplar pale,The parting Genius is with sighing sent;With flower-inwoven tresses torn,The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

The lonely mountains o’er,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;

From haunted spring and dale,

Edg’d with poplar pale,

The parting Genius is with sighing sent;

With flower-inwoven tresses torn,

The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

In consecrated earthAnd on the holy hearthThe Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;In urns and altars round,A drear and dying soundAffrights the Flamens at their service quaint;And the chill marble seems to sweat,While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

In consecrated earth

And on the holy hearth

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;

In urns and altars round,

A drear and dying sound

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;

And the chill marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

Peor and BaälimForsake their temples dim,With that twice batter’d god of Palestine;And mooned Ashtaroth,Heaven’s queen and mother both,Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine;The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

Peor and Baälim

Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice batter’d god of Palestine;

And mooned Ashtaroth,

Heaven’s queen and mother both,

Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine;

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

And sullen Moloch, fled,Hath left in shadows dreadHis burning idol all of blackest hue;In vain with cymbals’ ringThey call the grisly king,In dismal dance about the furnace blue;The brutish gods of Nile as fast,Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

And sullen Moloch, fled,

Hath left in shadows dread

His burning idol all of blackest hue;

In vain with cymbals’ ring

They call the grisly king,

In dismal dance about the furnace blue;

The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

Nor is Osiris seenIn Memphian grove or green,Trampling the unshower’d grass with lowings loud:Nor can he be at restWithin his sacred chest,Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud;In vain with timbrell’d anthems darkThe sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshower’d grass with lowings loud:

Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest,

Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud;

In vain with timbrell’d anthems dark

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.

He feels from Juda’s landThe dreaded Infant’s hand;The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;Nor all the gods besideLonger dare abide,Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:Our Babe, to show His Godhead true,Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew.

He feels from Juda’s land

The dreaded Infant’s hand;

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;

Nor all the gods beside

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:

Our Babe, to show His Godhead true,

Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew.

So when the sun in bed,Curtain’d with cloudy red,Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,The flocking shadows paleTroop to th’ infernal jail;Each fetter’d ghost slips to his several grave,And the yellow-skirted FaysFly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

So when the sun in bed,

Curtain’d with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale

Troop to th’ infernal jail;

Each fetter’d ghost slips to his several grave,

And the yellow-skirted Fays

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

But see the Virgin blestHath laid her Babe to rest;Time is our tedious song should here have ending,Heaven’s youngest-teemed starHath fix’d her polish’d car,Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending:And all about the courtly stableBright-harness’d angels sit in order serviceable.John Milton

But see the Virgin blest

Hath laid her Babe to rest;

Time is our tedious song should here have ending,

Heaven’s youngest-teemed star

Hath fix’d her polish’d car,

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending:

And all about the courtly stable

Bright-harness’d angels sit in order serviceable.

John Milton

Chorus.COME we shepherds whose blest sightHath met Love’s noon in Nature’s night,Come, lift we up our loftier song,And wake the sun that lies too long.To all our world of well-stol’n joy,He slept and dreamt of no such thing,While we found out heaven’s fairer eyeAnd kist the cradle of our King;Tell him he rises now too late,To show us aught worth looking at.Tell him we now can show him moreThan e’er he showed to mortal sight,Than he himself e’er saw before,Which to be seen needs not his light.Tell him, Tityrus, where th’ hast been,Tell him, Thyrsis, what th’ hast seen.Tityrus.Gloomy night embraced the placeWhere the noble Infant lay,The Babe looked up and showed His face;In spite of darkness it was day.It was Thy day, Sweet, and did riseNot from the East but from Thine eyes.Chorus.—It was Thy day, Sweet, &c.Thyrsis.Winter chid aloud and sentThe angry North to wage his wars,The North forgot his fierce intent,And left perfumes instead of scars;By those sweet eyes’ persuasive powers,Where he meant frost he scattered flowers.Chorus.—By those sweet eyes, &c.Both.We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,Bright dawn of our eternal day!We saw Thine eyes break from their EastAnd chase the trembling shades away:We saw Thee and we blest the sight,We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.Tityrus.Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doTo entertain this starry Stranger?Is this the best thou canst bestow,A cold and not too cleanly manger?Contend, ye powers of heaven and earth,To fit a bed for this huge birth.Chorus.—Contend, ye powers, &c.Thyrsis.Proud world (said I), cease your contest,And let the mighty Babe alone,The Phoenix builds the Phoenix’ nest,Love’s architecture is all one.The Babe whose birth embraves this morn,Made His own bed ere He was born.Chorus.—The Babe whose birth, &c.Tityrus.I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow,Come hovering o’er the place’s head,Offering their whitest sheets of snowTo furnish the fair Infant’s bed:Forbear (said I), be not too bold;Your fleece is white, but ’tis too cold.Chorus.—Forbear (said I), &c.Thyrsis.I saw the obsequious seraphinsTheir rosy fleece of fire bestow;For well they now can spare their wings,Since heaven itself lies here below:Well done (said I), but are you sureYour down so warm will pass for pure?Chorus.—Well done (said I), &c.Tityrus.No, no, your King’s not yet to seekWhere to repose His royal head.See, see, how soon His new-bloom’d cheekTwixt’s mother’s breasts is gone to bed:Sweet choice (said I), no way but so,Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.Chorus.—Sweet choice (said I), &c.Both.We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,Bright dawn of our eternal day!We saw Thine eyes break from their EastAnd chase the trembling shades away;We saw Thee and we blest the sight,We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.Chorus.—We saw Thee, &c.Full Chorus.Welcome all wonder in one sight,Eternity shut in a span,Summer in winter, day in night,Heaven in earth and God in man!Great little One! whose all-embracing birthLifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.Welcome, though not to gold nor silkTo more than Caesar’s birthright is,Two sister seas of virgin milk,With many a rarely-tempered kiss,That breathes at once both maid and mother,Warms in the one and cools in the other.She sings thy tears asleep, and dipsHer kisses in thy weeping eye;She spreads the red leaves of thy lipsThat in their buds yet blushing lie:She ’gainst those mother-diamonds triesThe points of her young eagle’s eyes.Welcome, though not to those gay fliesGilded i’ the beams of earthly kings,Slippery souls in smiling eyes,But to poor shepherds’ home-spun things;Whose wealth’s their flock, whose wit to beWell read in their simplicity.Yet when young April’s husband-showersShall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed,We’ll bring the first-born of her flowersTo kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head:To Thee, dread Lamb, whose love must keepThe shepherds more than they their sheep.To Thee, meek Majesty! soft KingOf simple graces and sweet loves,Each of us his lamb will bring,Each his pair of silver doves,Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes,Ourselves become our own best sacrifice.Richard Crashaw

Chorus.COME we shepherds whose blest sightHath met Love’s noon in Nature’s night,Come, lift we up our loftier song,And wake the sun that lies too long.

Chorus.

COME we shepherds whose blest sight

Hath met Love’s noon in Nature’s night,

Come, lift we up our loftier song,

And wake the sun that lies too long.

To all our world of well-stol’n joy,He slept and dreamt of no such thing,While we found out heaven’s fairer eyeAnd kist the cradle of our King;Tell him he rises now too late,To show us aught worth looking at.

To all our world of well-stol’n joy,

He slept and dreamt of no such thing,

While we found out heaven’s fairer eye

And kist the cradle of our King;

Tell him he rises now too late,

To show us aught worth looking at.

Tell him we now can show him moreThan e’er he showed to mortal sight,Than he himself e’er saw before,Which to be seen needs not his light.Tell him, Tityrus, where th’ hast been,Tell him, Thyrsis, what th’ hast seen.

Tell him we now can show him more

Than e’er he showed to mortal sight,

Than he himself e’er saw before,

Which to be seen needs not his light.

Tell him, Tityrus, where th’ hast been,

Tell him, Thyrsis, what th’ hast seen.

Tityrus.Gloomy night embraced the placeWhere the noble Infant lay,The Babe looked up and showed His face;In spite of darkness it was day.It was Thy day, Sweet, and did riseNot from the East but from Thine eyes.Chorus.—It was Thy day, Sweet, &c.

Tityrus.

Gloomy night embraced the place

Where the noble Infant lay,

The Babe looked up and showed His face;

In spite of darkness it was day.

It was Thy day, Sweet, and did rise

Not from the East but from Thine eyes.

Chorus.—It was Thy day, Sweet, &c.

Thyrsis.Winter chid aloud and sentThe angry North to wage his wars,The North forgot his fierce intent,And left perfumes instead of scars;By those sweet eyes’ persuasive powers,Where he meant frost he scattered flowers.Chorus.—By those sweet eyes, &c.

Thyrsis.

Winter chid aloud and sent

The angry North to wage his wars,

The North forgot his fierce intent,

And left perfumes instead of scars;

By those sweet eyes’ persuasive powers,

Where he meant frost he scattered flowers.

Chorus.—By those sweet eyes, &c.

Both.We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,Bright dawn of our eternal day!We saw Thine eyes break from their EastAnd chase the trembling shades away:We saw Thee and we blest the sight,We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

Both.

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,

Bright dawn of our eternal day!

We saw Thine eyes break from their East

And chase the trembling shades away:

We saw Thee and we blest the sight,

We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

Tityrus.Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doTo entertain this starry Stranger?Is this the best thou canst bestow,A cold and not too cleanly manger?Contend, ye powers of heaven and earth,To fit a bed for this huge birth.Chorus.—Contend, ye powers, &c.

Tityrus.

Poor world (said I), what wilt thou do

To entertain this starry Stranger?

Is this the best thou canst bestow,

A cold and not too cleanly manger?

Contend, ye powers of heaven and earth,

To fit a bed for this huge birth.

Chorus.—Contend, ye powers, &c.

Thyrsis.Proud world (said I), cease your contest,And let the mighty Babe alone,The Phoenix builds the Phoenix’ nest,Love’s architecture is all one.The Babe whose birth embraves this morn,Made His own bed ere He was born.Chorus.—The Babe whose birth, &c.

Thyrsis.

Proud world (said I), cease your contest,

And let the mighty Babe alone,

The Phoenix builds the Phoenix’ nest,

Love’s architecture is all one.

The Babe whose birth embraves this morn,

Made His own bed ere He was born.

Chorus.—The Babe whose birth, &c.

Tityrus.I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow,Come hovering o’er the place’s head,Offering their whitest sheets of snowTo furnish the fair Infant’s bed:Forbear (said I), be not too bold;Your fleece is white, but ’tis too cold.Chorus.—Forbear (said I), &c.

Tityrus.

I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow,

Come hovering o’er the place’s head,

Offering their whitest sheets of snow

To furnish the fair Infant’s bed:

Forbear (said I), be not too bold;

Your fleece is white, but ’tis too cold.

Chorus.—Forbear (said I), &c.

Thyrsis.I saw the obsequious seraphinsTheir rosy fleece of fire bestow;For well they now can spare their wings,Since heaven itself lies here below:Well done (said I), but are you sureYour down so warm will pass for pure?Chorus.—Well done (said I), &c.

Thyrsis.

I saw the obsequious seraphins

Their rosy fleece of fire bestow;

For well they now can spare their wings,

Since heaven itself lies here below:

Well done (said I), but are you sure

Your down so warm will pass for pure?

Chorus.—Well done (said I), &c.

Tityrus.No, no, your King’s not yet to seekWhere to repose His royal head.See, see, how soon His new-bloom’d cheekTwixt’s mother’s breasts is gone to bed:Sweet choice (said I), no way but so,Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.Chorus.—Sweet choice (said I), &c.

Tityrus.

No, no, your King’s not yet to seek

Where to repose His royal head.

See, see, how soon His new-bloom’d cheek

Twixt’s mother’s breasts is gone to bed:

Sweet choice (said I), no way but so,

Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.

Chorus.—Sweet choice (said I), &c.

Both.We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,Bright dawn of our eternal day!We saw Thine eyes break from their EastAnd chase the trembling shades away;We saw Thee and we blest the sight,We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.Chorus.—We saw Thee, &c.

Both.

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,

Bright dawn of our eternal day!

We saw Thine eyes break from their East

And chase the trembling shades away;

We saw Thee and we blest the sight,

We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

Chorus.—We saw Thee, &c.

Full Chorus.Welcome all wonder in one sight,Eternity shut in a span,Summer in winter, day in night,Heaven in earth and God in man!Great little One! whose all-embracing birthLifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.

Full Chorus.

Welcome all wonder in one sight,

Eternity shut in a span,

Summer in winter, day in night,

Heaven in earth and God in man!

Great little One! whose all-embracing birth

Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.

Welcome, though not to gold nor silkTo more than Caesar’s birthright is,Two sister seas of virgin milk,With many a rarely-tempered kiss,That breathes at once both maid and mother,Warms in the one and cools in the other.

Welcome, though not to gold nor silk

To more than Caesar’s birthright is,

Two sister seas of virgin milk,

With many a rarely-tempered kiss,

That breathes at once both maid and mother,

Warms in the one and cools in the other.

She sings thy tears asleep, and dipsHer kisses in thy weeping eye;She spreads the red leaves of thy lipsThat in their buds yet blushing lie:She ’gainst those mother-diamonds triesThe points of her young eagle’s eyes.

She sings thy tears asleep, and dips

Her kisses in thy weeping eye;

She spreads the red leaves of thy lips

That in their buds yet blushing lie:

She ’gainst those mother-diamonds tries

The points of her young eagle’s eyes.

Welcome, though not to those gay fliesGilded i’ the beams of earthly kings,Slippery souls in smiling eyes,But to poor shepherds’ home-spun things;Whose wealth’s their flock, whose wit to beWell read in their simplicity.

Welcome, though not to those gay flies

Gilded i’ the beams of earthly kings,

Slippery souls in smiling eyes,

But to poor shepherds’ home-spun things;

Whose wealth’s their flock, whose wit to be

Well read in their simplicity.

Yet when young April’s husband-showersShall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed,We’ll bring the first-born of her flowersTo kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head:To Thee, dread Lamb, whose love must keepThe shepherds more than they their sheep.

Yet when young April’s husband-showers

Shall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed,

We’ll bring the first-born of her flowers

To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head:

To Thee, dread Lamb, whose love must keep

The shepherds more than they their sheep.

To Thee, meek Majesty! soft KingOf simple graces and sweet loves,Each of us his lamb will bring,Each his pair of silver doves,Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes,Ourselves become our own best sacrifice.Richard Crashaw

To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King

Of simple graces and sweet loves,

Each of us his lamb will bring,

Each his pair of silver doves,

Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes,

Ourselves become our own best sacrifice.

Richard Crashaw

HEAVEN'S golden-wingèd herald late he sawTo a poor Galilean virgin sent:How long the bright youth bowed, and with what aweImmortal flowers to her fair hand present.He saw th’ old Hebrew’s womb neglect the lawOf age and barrenness, and her babe preventHis birth by his devotion, who beganBetimes to be a saint, before a man.He saw rich nectar thaws release the rigourOf th’ icy north, from frost-bound Atlas’ handsHis adamantine fetters fall; green vigourGladding the Scythian rocks and Libyan sands.He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigureWinter’s sad face, and through the flowery landsOf fair Engaddi’s honey-sweating fountainsWith manna, milk, and balm new broach the mountains.He saw how in that blest day-bearing nightThe heaven rebukèd shades made haste away;How bright a dawn of angels with new lightAmazed the midnight world, and made a dayOf which the morning knew not; mad with spightHe mark’d how the poor shepherds ran to payTheir simple tribute to the Babe, whose birthWas the great business both of heaven and earth.He saw a threefold sun with rich increaseMake proud the ruby portals of the East,He saw the temple sacred to sweet peaceAdore her Prince’s birth flat on her breast.He saw the falling idols all confessA coming Deity. He saw the nestOf poisonous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst,Touch’d with the world’s true antidote, to burst.He saw heaven blossom with a new-born light,On which, as on a glorious stranger, gazedThe golden eyes of night, whose beam made brightThe way to Bethlem; and as boldly blazed(Nor ask’d leave of the sun) by day as night.By whom (as heaven’s illustrious handmaid) raisedThree kings or, what is more, three wise men wentWestward to find the world’s true orient.

HEAVEN'S golden-wingèd herald late he saw

To a poor Galilean virgin sent:

How long the bright youth bowed, and with what awe

Immortal flowers to her fair hand present.

He saw th’ old Hebrew’s womb neglect the law

Of age and barrenness, and her babe prevent

His birth by his devotion, who began

Betimes to be a saint, before a man.

He saw rich nectar thaws release the rigourOf th’ icy north, from frost-bound Atlas’ handsHis adamantine fetters fall; green vigourGladding the Scythian rocks and Libyan sands.He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigureWinter’s sad face, and through the flowery landsOf fair Engaddi’s honey-sweating fountainsWith manna, milk, and balm new broach the mountains.

He saw rich nectar thaws release the rigour

Of th’ icy north, from frost-bound Atlas’ hands

His adamantine fetters fall; green vigour

Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libyan sands.

He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigure

Winter’s sad face, and through the flowery lands

Of fair Engaddi’s honey-sweating fountains

With manna, milk, and balm new broach the mountains.

He saw how in that blest day-bearing nightThe heaven rebukèd shades made haste away;How bright a dawn of angels with new lightAmazed the midnight world, and made a dayOf which the morning knew not; mad with spightHe mark’d how the poor shepherds ran to payTheir simple tribute to the Babe, whose birthWas the great business both of heaven and earth.

He saw how in that blest day-bearing night

The heaven rebukèd shades made haste away;

How bright a dawn of angels with new light

Amazed the midnight world, and made a day

Of which the morning knew not; mad with spight

He mark’d how the poor shepherds ran to pay

Their simple tribute to the Babe, whose birth

Was the great business both of heaven and earth.

He saw a threefold sun with rich increaseMake proud the ruby portals of the East,He saw the temple sacred to sweet peaceAdore her Prince’s birth flat on her breast.He saw the falling idols all confessA coming Deity. He saw the nestOf poisonous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst,Touch’d with the world’s true antidote, to burst.

He saw a threefold sun with rich increase

Make proud the ruby portals of the East,

He saw the temple sacred to sweet peace

Adore her Prince’s birth flat on her breast.

He saw the falling idols all confess

A coming Deity. He saw the nest

Of poisonous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst,

Touch’d with the world’s true antidote, to burst.

He saw heaven blossom with a new-born light,On which, as on a glorious stranger, gazedThe golden eyes of night, whose beam made brightThe way to Bethlem; and as boldly blazed(Nor ask’d leave of the sun) by day as night.By whom (as heaven’s illustrious handmaid) raisedThree kings or, what is more, three wise men wentWestward to find the world’s true orient.

He saw heaven blossom with a new-born light,

On which, as on a glorious stranger, gazed

The golden eyes of night, whose beam made bright

The way to Bethlem; and as boldly blazed

(Nor ask’d leave of the sun) by day as night.

By whom (as heaven’s illustrious handmaid) raised

Three kings or, what is more, three wise men went

Westward to find the world’s true orient.

That the great angel-blinding light should shrinkHis blaze to shine in a poor shepherd’s eye,That the unmeasured God so low should sinkAs Pris’ner in a few poor rags to lie,That from His mother’s breast He milk should drinkWho feeds with nectar heaven’s fair family,That a vile manger His low bed should proveWho in a throne of stars thunders above:That He, whom the sun serves, should faintly peepThrough clouds of infant flesh; that He the oldEternal Word should be a Child and weep,That He who made the fire should fear the cold:That heaven’s high majesty His court should keepIn a clay cottage, by each blast controll’d:That glory’s self should serve our griefs and fears,And free Eternity submit to years;And further, that the law’s eternal GiverShould bleed in His own law’s obedience;And to the circumcising knife deliverHimself, the forfeit of His slave’s offence;That the unblemish’d Lamb, blessed for ever,Should take the mark of sin, and pain of sense:—These are the knotty riddles, whose dark doubtEntangle his lost thoughts past getting out.Richard Crashaw(fromSospetto d’Herode)

That the great angel-blinding light should shrink

His blaze to shine in a poor shepherd’s eye,

That the unmeasured God so low should sink

As Pris’ner in a few poor rags to lie,

That from His mother’s breast He milk should drink

Who feeds with nectar heaven’s fair family,

That a vile manger His low bed should prove

Who in a throne of stars thunders above:

That He, whom the sun serves, should faintly peepThrough clouds of infant flesh; that He the oldEternal Word should be a Child and weep,That He who made the fire should fear the cold:That heaven’s high majesty His court should keepIn a clay cottage, by each blast controll’d:That glory’s self should serve our griefs and fears,And free Eternity submit to years;

That He, whom the sun serves, should faintly peep

Through clouds of infant flesh; that He the old

Eternal Word should be a Child and weep,

That He who made the fire should fear the cold:

That heaven’s high majesty His court should keep

In a clay cottage, by each blast controll’d:

That glory’s self should serve our griefs and fears,

And free Eternity submit to years;

And further, that the law’s eternal GiverShould bleed in His own law’s obedience;And to the circumcising knife deliverHimself, the forfeit of His slave’s offence;That the unblemish’d Lamb, blessed for ever,Should take the mark of sin, and pain of sense:—These are the knotty riddles, whose dark doubtEntangle his lost thoughts past getting out.Richard Crashaw(fromSospetto d’Herode)

And further, that the law’s eternal Giver

Should bleed in His own law’s obedience;

And to the circumcising knife deliver

Himself, the forfeit of His slave’s offence;

That the unblemish’d Lamb, blessed for ever,

Should take the mark of sin, and pain of sense:—

These are the knotty riddles, whose dark doubt

Entangle his lost thoughts past getting out.

Richard Crashaw

(fromSospetto d’Herode)

[Sung as by the three kings.]

1st King.BRIGHT Babe! whose awful beauties makeThe morn incur a sweet mistake;2nd King.For whom the officious heavens deviseTo disinherit the sun’s rise;3rd King.Delicately to displaceThe day, and plant it fairer in thy face;1st King.O Thou born King of loves!2nd King.Of lights!3rd King.Of joys!Chorus.Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see!For love of Thee,Thus far from home,The East is comeTo seek herself in Thy sweet eyes.1st King.We who strangely went astray,Lost in a brightMeridian night;2nd King.A darkness made of too much day;3rd King.Beckoned from far,By thy fair star,Lo, at last have found our way.Chorus.To thee, thou Day of Night; thou East of West!Lo, we at last have found the wayTo thee, the world’s great universal East,The general and indifferent day.1st King.All-circling point! all-centring sphere!The world’s one, round, eternal year:2nd King.Whose full and all-unwrinkled face,Nor sinks nor swells, with time or place;3rd King.But everywhere and every whileIs one consistent solid smile.1st King.Not vexed and tost,2nd King.’Twixt spring and frost;3rd King.Nor by alternate shreds of light,Sordidly shifting hands with shades and night.Chorus.O little All, in Thy embrace,The world lies warm and likes his place;Nor does his full globe fail to beKissed on both his cheeks by Thee;Time is too narrow for Thy year,Nor makes the whole world Thy half-sphere.

1st King.

BRIGHT Babe! whose awful beauties make

The morn incur a sweet mistake;

2nd King.

For whom the officious heavens devise

To disinherit the sun’s rise;

3rd King.

Delicately to displace

The day, and plant it fairer in thy face;

1st King.

O Thou born King of loves!

2nd King.Of lights!

3rd King.Of joys!

Chorus.

Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see!

For love of Thee,

Thus far from home,

The East is come

To seek herself in Thy sweet eyes.

1st King.We who strangely went astray,Lost in a brightMeridian night;2nd King.A darkness made of too much day;3rd King.Beckoned from far,By thy fair star,Lo, at last have found our way.Chorus.To thee, thou Day of Night; thou East of West!Lo, we at last have found the wayTo thee, the world’s great universal East,The general and indifferent day.1st King.All-circling point! all-centring sphere!The world’s one, round, eternal year:2nd King.Whose full and all-unwrinkled face,Nor sinks nor swells, with time or place;3rd King.But everywhere and every whileIs one consistent solid smile.1st King.Not vexed and tost,2nd King.’Twixt spring and frost;3rd King.Nor by alternate shreds of light,Sordidly shifting hands with shades and night.Chorus.O little All, in Thy embrace,The world lies warm and likes his place;Nor does his full globe fail to beKissed on both his cheeks by Thee;Time is too narrow for Thy year,Nor makes the whole world Thy half-sphere.

1st King.

We who strangely went astray,

Lost in a bright

Meridian night;

2nd King.

A darkness made of too much day;

3rd King.

Beckoned from far,

By thy fair star,

Lo, at last have found our way.

Chorus.

To thee, thou Day of Night; thou East of West!

Lo, we at last have found the way

To thee, the world’s great universal East,

The general and indifferent day.

1st King.

All-circling point! all-centring sphere!

The world’s one, round, eternal year:

2nd King.

Whose full and all-unwrinkled face,

Nor sinks nor swells, with time or place;

3rd King.

But everywhere and every while

Is one consistent solid smile.

1st King.

Not vexed and tost,

2nd King.

’Twixt spring and frost;

3rd King.

Nor by alternate shreds of light,

Sordidly shifting hands with shades and night.

Chorus.

O little All, in Thy embrace,

The world lies warm and likes his place;

Nor does his full globe fail to be

Kissed on both his cheeks by Thee;

Time is too narrow for Thy year,

Nor makes the whole world Thy half-sphere.

Therefore, to Thee, and Thine auspicious ray,(Dread sweet!), lo thus,At least by us,The delegated eye of day,Does first his sceptre, then himself, in solemn tribute pay;Thus he undressesHis sacred unshorn tresses;At thy adorèd feet thus he lays down,1st King.His glorious tireOf flame and fire,2nd King.His glittering robe,3rd King.His sparkling crown,1st King.His gold,2nd King.His myrrh,3rd King.His frankincense.Chorus.To which he now has no pretence;For being show’d by this day’s light, how farHe is from sun, enough to make thy star,His best ambition now is but to beSomething a brighter shadow, sweet! of thee.Or on heaven’s azure forehead high to stand,Thy golden index; with a duteous handPointing us home to our own Sun,The world’s and his Hyperion.Richard Crashaw

Therefore, to Thee, and Thine auspicious ray,

(Dread sweet!), lo thus,

At least by us,

The delegated eye of day,

Does first his sceptre, then himself, in solemn tribute pay;

Thus he undresses

His sacred unshorn tresses;

At thy adorèd feet thus he lays down,

1st King.

His glorious tire

Of flame and fire,

2nd King.His glittering robe,

3rd King.His sparkling crown,

1st King.His gold,

2nd King.His myrrh,

3rd King.His frankincense.

Chorus.

To which he now has no pretence;

For being show’d by this day’s light, how far

He is from sun, enough to make thy star,

His best ambition now is but to be

Something a brighter shadow, sweet! of thee.

Or on heaven’s azure forehead high to stand,

Thy golden index; with a duteous hand

Pointing us home to our own Sun,

The world’s and his Hyperion.

Richard Crashaw

[Being a dialogue between three shepherds.]

1st.WHERE is this blessed BabeThat hath madeAll the world so full of joyAnd expectation;That glorious BoyThat crowns each nationWith a triumphant wreath of blessedness?2nd.Where should He be but in the throng,And amongHis angel ministers, that singAnd take wingJust as may echo to His voice,And rejoice,When wing and tongue and allMay so procure their happiness?3rd.But He hath other waiters now:A poor cow,An ox and mule, stand and behold,And wonderThat a stable should enfoldHim that can thunder.Chorus.—O what a gracious God have we,How good! how great! even as our misery.Jeremy Taylor

1st.WHERE is this blessed BabeThat hath madeAll the world so full of joyAnd expectation;That glorious BoyThat crowns each nationWith a triumphant wreath of blessedness?

1st.

WHERE is this blessed Babe

That hath made

All the world so full of joy

And expectation;

That glorious Boy

That crowns each nation

With a triumphant wreath of blessedness?

2nd.Where should He be but in the throng,And amongHis angel ministers, that singAnd take wingJust as may echo to His voice,And rejoice,When wing and tongue and allMay so procure their happiness?

2nd.

Where should He be but in the throng,

And among

His angel ministers, that sing

And take wing

Just as may echo to His voice,

And rejoice,

When wing and tongue and all

May so procure their happiness?

3rd.But He hath other waiters now:A poor cow,An ox and mule, stand and behold,And wonderThat a stable should enfoldHim that can thunder.Chorus.—O what a gracious God have we,How good! how great! even as our misery.Jeremy Taylor

3rd.

But He hath other waiters now:

A poor cow,

An ox and mule, stand and behold,

And wonder

That a stable should enfold

Him that can thunder.

Chorus.—O what a gracious God have we,

How good! how great! even as our misery.

Jeremy Taylor

AWAKE, my soul, and come away:Put on thy best array;Lest if thou longer stayThou lose some minutes of so blest a day.Go run,And bid good-morrow to the sun;Welcome his safe returnTo Capricorn,And that great mornWherein a God was born,Whose story none can tellBut He whose every word’s a miracle.To-day Almightiness grew weak;The Word itself was mute and could not speak.That Jacob’s star which made the sunTo dazzle if he durst look on,Now mantled o’er in Bethlehem’s night,Borrowed a star to show him light.He that begirt each zone,To whom both poles are one,Who grasped the zodiac in his handAnd made it move or stand,Is now by nature man,By stature but a span;Eternity is now grown short;A King is born without a court;The water thirsts, the fountain’s dry;And life, being born, made apt to die.Chorus.Then let our praises emulate and vieWith His humility!Since He’s exiled from skiesThat we might rise,—From low estate of menLet’s sing Him up again!Each man wind up his heartTo bear a partIn that angelic choir and showHis glory high as He was low.Let’s sing towards men goodwill and charity,Peace upon earth, glory to God on high!Hallelujah! Hallelujah!Jeremy Taylor

AWAKE, my soul, and come away:

Put on thy best array;

Lest if thou longer stay

Thou lose some minutes of so blest a day.

Go run,

And bid good-morrow to the sun;

Welcome his safe return

To Capricorn,

And that great morn

Wherein a God was born,

Whose story none can tell

But He whose every word’s a miracle.

To-day Almightiness grew weak;The Word itself was mute and could not speak.

To-day Almightiness grew weak;

The Word itself was mute and could not speak.

That Jacob’s star which made the sunTo dazzle if he durst look on,Now mantled o’er in Bethlehem’s night,Borrowed a star to show him light.He that begirt each zone,To whom both poles are one,Who grasped the zodiac in his handAnd made it move or stand,Is now by nature man,By stature but a span;Eternity is now grown short;A King is born without a court;The water thirsts, the fountain’s dry;And life, being born, made apt to die.

That Jacob’s star which made the sun

To dazzle if he durst look on,

Now mantled o’er in Bethlehem’s night,

Borrowed a star to show him light.

He that begirt each zone,

To whom both poles are one,

Who grasped the zodiac in his hand

And made it move or stand,

Is now by nature man,

By stature but a span;

Eternity is now grown short;

A King is born without a court;

The water thirsts, the fountain’s dry;

And life, being born, made apt to die.

Chorus.Then let our praises emulate and vieWith His humility!Since He’s exiled from skiesThat we might rise,—From low estate of menLet’s sing Him up again!Each man wind up his heartTo bear a partIn that angelic choir and showHis glory high as He was low.Let’s sing towards men goodwill and charity,Peace upon earth, glory to God on high!Hallelujah! Hallelujah!Jeremy Taylor

Chorus.

Then let our praises emulate and vie

With His humility!

Since He’s exiled from skies

That we might rise,—

From low estate of men

Let’s sing Him up again!

Each man wind up his heart

To bear a part

In that angelic choir and show

His glory high as He was low.

Let’s sing towards men goodwill and charity,

Peace upon earth, glory to God on high!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Jeremy Taylor

WONDER'S birthday,Which mak’st December’s faceFairer than May,And bidst the spring give placeTo fresher winter, in whose hardy snowA flower more sweet than the whole spring doth grow.For winter nowA virgin plant espies,Which all his snowCould never equalize:More white, more chaste is she, yet fertile too,The King of Miracles would have it so.For he it wasWho would be born below.And find a placeAmongst poor us to grow.Himself he planted in our dust that heMight be as true a mortal thing as we.Himself he setAnd by that art was sureThat he should getA birth all clean and pure:Proud flesh corrupts and stains the seed we sow;He, planted by his Spirit, will spotless grow.VirginityHis Father wanteth not,Though glorious heSo great a Son hath got;Wherefore Heaven orders that a virgin beThe Lily-Mother of his purity.Upon the whiteChurch-wall oft-times have IObserv’d the light,Which darting from the skyPierc’d the unbroken glass and with it broughtThe orient colours in the window wrought.So from his sphereThe Lord of Light doth come,And passing hereHis crystal Mother’s wombLeaves her entirely whole, yet brings awayHer perfect image, born a man to-day.He who did wearGod’s radiant boundless formShrinks himself hereInto a simple worm.Heaven moulded up in earth; EternityGrasp’d in a span of time doth bounded lie.All ParadiseCollected in one budDoth sweetly riseFrom its fair Virgin bed:Omnipotence an Infant’s shape puts on,Immensity becomes a Little One.But onlyLoveWould not thus scanted be,But stoutly strove’Gainst this conspiracyOf strange Epitomies, and did displayItself more full on this contracting day.Joseph Beaumont

WONDER'S birthday,Which mak’st December’s faceFairer than May,And bidst the spring give placeTo fresher winter, in whose hardy snowA flower more sweet than the whole spring doth grow.

WONDER'S birthday,

Which mak’st December’s face

Fairer than May,

And bidst the spring give place

To fresher winter, in whose hardy snow

A flower more sweet than the whole spring doth grow.

For winter nowA virgin plant espies,Which all his snowCould never equalize:More white, more chaste is she, yet fertile too,The King of Miracles would have it so.

For winter now

A virgin plant espies,

Which all his snow

Could never equalize:

More white, more chaste is she, yet fertile too,

The King of Miracles would have it so.

For he it wasWho would be born below.And find a placeAmongst poor us to grow.Himself he planted in our dust that heMight be as true a mortal thing as we.

For he it was

Who would be born below.

And find a place

Amongst poor us to grow.

Himself he planted in our dust that he

Might be as true a mortal thing as we.

Himself he setAnd by that art was sureThat he should getA birth all clean and pure:Proud flesh corrupts and stains the seed we sow;He, planted by his Spirit, will spotless grow.

Himself he set

And by that art was sure

That he should get

A birth all clean and pure:

Proud flesh corrupts and stains the seed we sow;

He, planted by his Spirit, will spotless grow.

VirginityHis Father wanteth not,Though glorious heSo great a Son hath got;Wherefore Heaven orders that a virgin beThe Lily-Mother of his purity.

Virginity

His Father wanteth not,

Though glorious he

So great a Son hath got;

Wherefore Heaven orders that a virgin be

The Lily-Mother of his purity.

Upon the whiteChurch-wall oft-times have IObserv’d the light,Which darting from the skyPierc’d the unbroken glass and with it broughtThe orient colours in the window wrought.

Upon the white

Church-wall oft-times have I

Observ’d the light,

Which darting from the sky

Pierc’d the unbroken glass and with it brought

The orient colours in the window wrought.

So from his sphereThe Lord of Light doth come,And passing hereHis crystal Mother’s wombLeaves her entirely whole, yet brings awayHer perfect image, born a man to-day.

So from his sphere

The Lord of Light doth come,

And passing here

His crystal Mother’s womb

Leaves her entirely whole, yet brings away

Her perfect image, born a man to-day.

He who did wearGod’s radiant boundless formShrinks himself hereInto a simple worm.Heaven moulded up in earth; EternityGrasp’d in a span of time doth bounded lie.

He who did wear

God’s radiant boundless form

Shrinks himself here

Into a simple worm.

Heaven moulded up in earth; Eternity

Grasp’d in a span of time doth bounded lie.

All ParadiseCollected in one budDoth sweetly riseFrom its fair Virgin bed:Omnipotence an Infant’s shape puts on,Immensity becomes a Little One.

All Paradise

Collected in one bud

Doth sweetly rise

From its fair Virgin bed:

Omnipotence an Infant’s shape puts on,

Immensity becomes a Little One.

But onlyLoveWould not thus scanted be,But stoutly strove’Gainst this conspiracyOf strange Epitomies, and did displayItself more full on this contracting day.Joseph Beaumont

But onlyLove

Would not thus scanted be,

But stoutly strove

’Gainst this conspiracy

Of strange Epitomies, and did display

Itself more full on this contracting day.

Joseph Beaumont

Incarnatio est maximum Dei donum.

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