LATER POEMS AND CAROLS

RORATE Coeli desuper!Heavens, distil your balmy showers,For now is risen the bright daystarFrom the Rose Mary, flower of flowers;The clear sun, whom no cloud devours,Surmounting Phoebus in the east,Is comen of his heavenly towers;Et nobis Puer natus est.Archangels, angels, dominations,Thrones, potentates, and martyrs seir,[31]And all the heavenly operations,Star, planet, firmament, and sphere,Fire, earth, air, and water clear,To Him give loving, most and least,That come is in so meek maneir;Et nobis Puer natus est.Sinners, be glad, and penance do,And thank your Maker heartily,For He, that ye might not come to,To you is comen full humbly,Your soulës with His blood to buy,And loose you of the fiend’s arrest,And only of His own mercy;Pro nobis Puer natus est.Celestial fowlës in the air,Sing with your notes upon hight,In firthës and forests fair.Be mirthful now, at all your might,For passed is your dully night;Aurora has the cloudis perced,The sun is risen with gladsome light,Et nobis Puer natus est.Now spring up flowrës from the root,Revert you upward naturally,In honour of the blessed fruitThat rose up from the Rose Mary;Lay out your leavës lustily,From dead take life now, at the least,In worship of that Prince worthy,Qui nobis Puer natus est.Sing heaven imperial, most of height,Regions of air make harmony;All fish in floud, and fowl of flight,Be mirthful and make melody;All Gloria in Excelsis cry,Heaven, earth, sea, man, bird, and beast,He that is crowned above the sky.Pro nobis Puer natus est.William Dunbar

RORATE Coeli desuper!

Heavens, distil your balmy showers,

For now is risen the bright daystar

From the Rose Mary, flower of flowers;

The clear sun, whom no cloud devours,

Surmounting Phoebus in the east,

Is comen of his heavenly towers;

Et nobis Puer natus est.

Archangels, angels, dominations,Thrones, potentates, and martyrs seir,[31]And all the heavenly operations,Star, planet, firmament, and sphere,Fire, earth, air, and water clear,To Him give loving, most and least,That come is in so meek maneir;Et nobis Puer natus est.

Archangels, angels, dominations,

Thrones, potentates, and martyrs seir,[31]

And all the heavenly operations,

Star, planet, firmament, and sphere,

Fire, earth, air, and water clear,

To Him give loving, most and least,

That come is in so meek maneir;

Et nobis Puer natus est.

Sinners, be glad, and penance do,And thank your Maker heartily,For He, that ye might not come to,To you is comen full humbly,Your soulës with His blood to buy,And loose you of the fiend’s arrest,And only of His own mercy;Pro nobis Puer natus est.

Sinners, be glad, and penance do,

And thank your Maker heartily,

For He, that ye might not come to,

To you is comen full humbly,

Your soulës with His blood to buy,

And loose you of the fiend’s arrest,

And only of His own mercy;

Pro nobis Puer natus est.

Celestial fowlës in the air,Sing with your notes upon hight,In firthës and forests fair.Be mirthful now, at all your might,For passed is your dully night;Aurora has the cloudis perced,The sun is risen with gladsome light,Et nobis Puer natus est.

Celestial fowlës in the air,

Sing with your notes upon hight,

In firthës and forests fair.

Be mirthful now, at all your might,

For passed is your dully night;

Aurora has the cloudis perced,

The sun is risen with gladsome light,

Et nobis Puer natus est.

Now spring up flowrës from the root,Revert you upward naturally,In honour of the blessed fruitThat rose up from the Rose Mary;Lay out your leavës lustily,From dead take life now, at the least,In worship of that Prince worthy,Qui nobis Puer natus est.

Now spring up flowrës from the root,

Revert you upward naturally,

In honour of the blessed fruit

That rose up from the Rose Mary;

Lay out your leavës lustily,

From dead take life now, at the least,

In worship of that Prince worthy,

Qui nobis Puer natus est.

Sing heaven imperial, most of height,Regions of air make harmony;All fish in floud, and fowl of flight,Be mirthful and make melody;All Gloria in Excelsis cry,Heaven, earth, sea, man, bird, and beast,He that is crowned above the sky.Pro nobis Puer natus est.William Dunbar

Sing heaven imperial, most of height,

Regions of air make harmony;

All fish in floud, and fowl of flight,

Be mirthful and make melody;

All Gloria in Excelsis cry,

Heaven, earth, sea, man, bird, and beast,

He that is crowned above the sky.

Pro nobis Puer natus est.

William Dunbar

[31]Many.

AS I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear.Who scorched with exceeding heat such floods of tears did shed,As though His floods should quench His flames with what Histears were fed;Alas, quoth He, but newly born in fiery heats I fry,Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I.My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals;The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls;For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good,So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood:With this He vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away,And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day.Robert Southwell

AS I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,

Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;

And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,

A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear.

Who scorched with exceeding heat such floods of tears did shed,

As though His floods should quench His flames with what His

tears were fed;

Alas, quoth He, but newly born in fiery heats I fry,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I.

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;

The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals;

The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls;

For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good,

So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood:

With this He vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away,

And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day.

Robert Southwell

BEHOLD a silly tender Babe,In freezing winter night,In homely manger trembling lies,Alas! a piteous sight.The inns are full, no man will yieldThis little Pilgrim bed;But forced He is with silly beastsIn crib to shroud His head.Despise Him not for lying there,First what He is inquire;An orient pearl is often foundIn depth of dirty mire.Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,Nor beast that by Him feed;Weigh not His mother’s poor attire,Nor Joseph’s simple weed.This stable is a prince’s court,This crib His chair of state;The beasts are parcel of His pomp,The wooden dish His plate.The persons in that poor attireHis royal liveries wear;The Prince Himself is come from heavenThis pomp is prizèd there.With joy approach, O Christian wight!Do homage to thy King;And highly praise this humble pompWhich He from heaven doth bring.Robert Southwell

BEHOLD a silly tender Babe,In freezing winter night,In homely manger trembling lies,Alas! a piteous sight.

BEHOLD a silly tender Babe,

In freezing winter night,

In homely manger trembling lies,

Alas! a piteous sight.

The inns are full, no man will yieldThis little Pilgrim bed;But forced He is with silly beastsIn crib to shroud His head.

The inns are full, no man will yield

This little Pilgrim bed;

But forced He is with silly beasts

In crib to shroud His head.

Despise Him not for lying there,First what He is inquire;An orient pearl is often foundIn depth of dirty mire.

Despise Him not for lying there,

First what He is inquire;

An orient pearl is often found

In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,Nor beast that by Him feed;Weigh not His mother’s poor attire,Nor Joseph’s simple weed.

Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,

Nor beast that by Him feed;

Weigh not His mother’s poor attire,

Nor Joseph’s simple weed.

This stable is a prince’s court,This crib His chair of state;The beasts are parcel of His pomp,The wooden dish His plate.

This stable is a prince’s court,

This crib His chair of state;

The beasts are parcel of His pomp,

The wooden dish His plate.

The persons in that poor attireHis royal liveries wear;The Prince Himself is come from heavenThis pomp is prizèd there.

The persons in that poor attire

His royal liveries wear;

The Prince Himself is come from heaven

This pomp is prizèd there.

With joy approach, O Christian wight!Do homage to thy King;And highly praise this humble pompWhich He from heaven doth bring.Robert Southwell

With joy approach, O Christian wight!

Do homage to thy King;

And highly praise this humble pomp

Which He from heaven doth bring.

Robert Southwell

COME to your heaven, you heavenly quires!Earth hath the heaven of your desires:Remove your dwelling to your God,A stall is now His best abode;Sith men their homage do deny,Come, angels, all their faults supply.His chilling cold doth heat require,Come, Seraphim, in lieu of fire;This little ark no cover hath,Let Cherubs’ wings His body swathe;Come, Raphael, this Babe must eat,Provide our little Tobie meat.Let Gabriel be now His groom,That first took up His earthly room;Let Michael stand in His defence,Whom love hath linked to feeble sense;Let Graces rock when He doth cry,And Angels sing His lullaby.The same you saw in heavenly seatIs He that now sucks Mary’s teat;Agnize[32]your King a mortal wight,His borrowed weeds lets[33]not your sight;Come, kiss the manger where He lies;That is your bliss above the skies.This little Babe so few days oldIs come to rifle Satan’s fold,All hell doth at His presence quake,Though He Himself for cold do shake;For in this weak unarmèd wiseThe gates of hell He will surprise.With tears He fights and wins the field,His naked breast stands for a shield;His battering shot are babish cries;His arrows, looks of weeping eyes;His martial ensigns, cold and need;And feeble flesh His warrior’s steed.His camp is pitchèd in a stall,His bulwark but a broken wall,His crib His trench, hay-stalks His stakes,Of shepherds He His muster takes;And thus, as sure His foe to wound,The angels’ trumps alarum sound.My soul, with Christ join thou in fight;Stick to the tents that He hath pight;Within His crib is surest ward,This little Babe will be thy guard;If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,Then flit not from this heavenly Boy.Robert Southwell

COME to your heaven, you heavenly quires!

Earth hath the heaven of your desires:

Remove your dwelling to your God,

A stall is now His best abode;

Sith men their homage do deny,

Come, angels, all their faults supply.

His chilling cold doth heat require,Come, Seraphim, in lieu of fire;This little ark no cover hath,Let Cherubs’ wings His body swathe;Come, Raphael, this Babe must eat,Provide our little Tobie meat.

His chilling cold doth heat require,

Come, Seraphim, in lieu of fire;

This little ark no cover hath,

Let Cherubs’ wings His body swathe;

Come, Raphael, this Babe must eat,

Provide our little Tobie meat.

Let Gabriel be now His groom,That first took up His earthly room;Let Michael stand in His defence,Whom love hath linked to feeble sense;Let Graces rock when He doth cry,And Angels sing His lullaby.

Let Gabriel be now His groom,

That first took up His earthly room;

Let Michael stand in His defence,

Whom love hath linked to feeble sense;

Let Graces rock when He doth cry,

And Angels sing His lullaby.

The same you saw in heavenly seatIs He that now sucks Mary’s teat;Agnize[32]your King a mortal wight,His borrowed weeds lets[33]not your sight;Come, kiss the manger where He lies;That is your bliss above the skies.

The same you saw in heavenly seat

Is He that now sucks Mary’s teat;

Agnize[32]your King a mortal wight,

His borrowed weeds lets[33]not your sight;

Come, kiss the manger where He lies;

That is your bliss above the skies.

This little Babe so few days oldIs come to rifle Satan’s fold,All hell doth at His presence quake,Though He Himself for cold do shake;For in this weak unarmèd wiseThe gates of hell He will surprise.

This little Babe so few days old

Is come to rifle Satan’s fold,

All hell doth at His presence quake,

Though He Himself for cold do shake;

For in this weak unarmèd wise

The gates of hell He will surprise.

With tears He fights and wins the field,His naked breast stands for a shield;His battering shot are babish cries;His arrows, looks of weeping eyes;His martial ensigns, cold and need;And feeble flesh His warrior’s steed.

With tears He fights and wins the field,

His naked breast stands for a shield;

His battering shot are babish cries;

His arrows, looks of weeping eyes;

His martial ensigns, cold and need;

And feeble flesh His warrior’s steed.

His camp is pitchèd in a stall,His bulwark but a broken wall,His crib His trench, hay-stalks His stakes,Of shepherds He His muster takes;And thus, as sure His foe to wound,The angels’ trumps alarum sound.

His camp is pitchèd in a stall,

His bulwark but a broken wall,

His crib His trench, hay-stalks His stakes,

Of shepherds He His muster takes;

And thus, as sure His foe to wound,

The angels’ trumps alarum sound.

My soul, with Christ join thou in fight;Stick to the tents that He hath pight;Within His crib is surest ward,This little Babe will be thy guard;If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,Then flit not from this heavenly Boy.Robert Southwell

My soul, with Christ join thou in fight;

Stick to the tents that He hath pight;

Within His crib is surest ward,

This little Babe will be thy guard;

If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,

Then flit not from this heavenly Boy.

Robert Southwell

[32]Acknowledge.

[33]Hinders.

LET folly praise that fancy loves,I praise and love that Child,Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word,Whose head no deed defiled.I praise Him most, I love Him best,All praise and love is His;While Him I love, in Him I live,And cannot live amiss.Love’s sweetest mark, laud’s highest theme,Man’s most desirèd light,To love Him life, to leave Him death,To live in Him delight.He mine by gift, I His by debt,Thus each to other due,First friend He was, best friend He is,All times will try Him true.Though young, yet wise; though small, yet strong;Though man, yet God He is;As wise He knows, as strong He can,As God He loves to bless.His knowledge rules, His strength defends,His love doth cherish all;His birth our joy, His life our light,His death our end of thrall.Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants,Yet doth His angels sing;Out of His tears, His sighs and throbs,Doth bud a joyful spring.Almighty Babe, whose tender armsCan force all foes to fly,Correct my faults, protect my life,Direct me when I die!Robert Southwell

LET folly praise that fancy loves,I praise and love that Child,Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word,Whose head no deed defiled.

LET folly praise that fancy loves,

I praise and love that Child,

Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word,

Whose head no deed defiled.

I praise Him most, I love Him best,All praise and love is His;While Him I love, in Him I live,And cannot live amiss.

I praise Him most, I love Him best,

All praise and love is His;

While Him I love, in Him I live,

And cannot live amiss.

Love’s sweetest mark, laud’s highest theme,Man’s most desirèd light,To love Him life, to leave Him death,To live in Him delight.

Love’s sweetest mark, laud’s highest theme,

Man’s most desirèd light,

To love Him life, to leave Him death,

To live in Him delight.

He mine by gift, I His by debt,Thus each to other due,First friend He was, best friend He is,All times will try Him true.

He mine by gift, I His by debt,

Thus each to other due,

First friend He was, best friend He is,

All times will try Him true.

Though young, yet wise; though small, yet strong;Though man, yet God He is;As wise He knows, as strong He can,As God He loves to bless.

Though young, yet wise; though small, yet strong;

Though man, yet God He is;

As wise He knows, as strong He can,

As God He loves to bless.

His knowledge rules, His strength defends,His love doth cherish all;His birth our joy, His life our light,His death our end of thrall.

His knowledge rules, His strength defends,

His love doth cherish all;

His birth our joy, His life our light,

His death our end of thrall.

Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants,Yet doth His angels sing;Out of His tears, His sighs and throbs,Doth bud a joyful spring.

Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants,

Yet doth His angels sing;

Out of His tears, His sighs and throbs,

Doth bud a joyful spring.

Almighty Babe, whose tender armsCan force all foes to fly,Correct my faults, protect my life,Direct me when I die!Robert Southwell

Almighty Babe, whose tender arms

Can force all foes to fly,

Correct my faults, protect my life,

Direct me when I die!

Robert Southwell

IIMMENSITY, cloistered in thy dear womb,Now leaves His well-beloved imprisonment;There He hath made Himself to His intent,Weak enough now into our world to come:But oh! for thee, for Him, hath th’ inn no room?Yet lay Him in His stall, and from the orientStars and wise men will travel, to preventTh’ effect of Herod’s jealous general doom.See’st thou, my soul! with thy faith’s eyes, how He,Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie!Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,That would have need to be pitied by thee?Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,With His kind mother who partakes thy woe.John Donne

IIMMENSITY, cloistered in thy dear womb,

Now leaves His well-beloved imprisonment;

There He hath made Himself to His intent,

Weak enough now into our world to come:

But oh! for thee, for Him, hath th’ inn no room?

Yet lay Him in His stall, and from the orient

Stars and wise men will travel, to prevent

Th’ effect of Herod’s jealous general doom.

See’st thou, my soul! with thy faith’s eyes, how He,

Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie!

Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,

That would have need to be pitied by thee?

Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,

With His kind mother who partakes thy woe.

John Donne

IMMORTAL Babe, who this dear dayDidst change Thine heaven for our clay,And didst with flesh Thy godhead veil,Eternal Son of God, all hail!Shine, happy star; ye angels, singGlory on high to heaven’s King:Run, shepherds, leave your nightly watch,See heaven come down to Bethlehem’s cratch.Worship, ye sages of the east,The King of gods in meanness dressed,O blessèd maid, smile and adoreThe God thy womb and arms have bore.Star, angels, shepherds, and wise sages,Thou virgin glory of all ages,Restorèd frame of heaven and earth,Joy in your dear Redeemer’s birth!Joseph Hall

IMMORTAL Babe, who this dear dayDidst change Thine heaven for our clay,And didst with flesh Thy godhead veil,Eternal Son of God, all hail!

IMMORTAL Babe, who this dear day

Didst change Thine heaven for our clay,

And didst with flesh Thy godhead veil,

Eternal Son of God, all hail!

Shine, happy star; ye angels, singGlory on high to heaven’s King:Run, shepherds, leave your nightly watch,See heaven come down to Bethlehem’s cratch.

Shine, happy star; ye angels, sing

Glory on high to heaven’s King:

Run, shepherds, leave your nightly watch,

See heaven come down to Bethlehem’s cratch.

Worship, ye sages of the east,The King of gods in meanness dressed,O blessèd maid, smile and adoreThe God thy womb and arms have bore.

Worship, ye sages of the east,

The King of gods in meanness dressed,

O blessèd maid, smile and adore

The God thy womb and arms have bore.

Star, angels, shepherds, and wise sages,Thou virgin glory of all ages,Restorèd frame of heaven and earth,Joy in your dear Redeemer’s birth!Joseph Hall

Star, angels, shepherds, and wise sages,

Thou virgin glory of all ages,

Restorèd frame of heaven and earth,

Joy in your dear Redeemer’s birth!

Joseph Hall

ISING the birth was born to-night,The Author both of life and light,The angel so did sound it:And like the ravished shepherds said,Who saw the light and were afraid,Yet searched, and true they found it.The Son of God, th’ Eternal King,That did us all salvation bring,And freed our soul from danger;He whom the whole world could not take,The Word, which heaven and earth did make,Was now laid in a manger.The Father’s wisdom willed it so,The Son’s obedience knew no No,Both wills were in one stature;And as that wisdom had decreed,The Word was now made flesh indeed,And took on Him our nature.What comfort by Him we do win,Who made Himself the price of sinTo make us heirs of glory!To see this Babe, all innocence,A martyr born in our defence:Can man forget the story?Ben Jonson

ISING the birth was born to-night,

The Author both of life and light,

The angel so did sound it:

And like the ravished shepherds said,

Who saw the light and were afraid,

Yet searched, and true they found it.

The Son of God, th’ Eternal King,That did us all salvation bring,And freed our soul from danger;He whom the whole world could not take,The Word, which heaven and earth did make,Was now laid in a manger.

The Son of God, th’ Eternal King,

That did us all salvation bring,

And freed our soul from danger;

He whom the whole world could not take,

The Word, which heaven and earth did make,

Was now laid in a manger.

The Father’s wisdom willed it so,The Son’s obedience knew no No,Both wills were in one stature;And as that wisdom had decreed,The Word was now made flesh indeed,And took on Him our nature.

The Father’s wisdom willed it so,

The Son’s obedience knew no No,

Both wills were in one stature;

And as that wisdom had decreed,

The Word was now made flesh indeed,

And took on Him our nature.

What comfort by Him we do win,Who made Himself the price of sinTo make us heirs of glory!To see this Babe, all innocence,A martyr born in our defence:Can man forget the story?Ben Jonson

What comfort by Him we do win,

Who made Himself the price of sin

To make us heirs of glory!

To see this Babe, all innocence,

A martyr born in our defence:

Can man forget the story?

Ben Jonson

SWEET music, sweeter farThan any song is sweet:Sweet music, heavenly rare,Mine ears, O peers, doth greet.You gentle flocks, whose fleeces pearled with dewResemble heaven, whom golden drops make bright,Listen, O listen, now, O not to youOur pipes make sport to shorten weary night:But voices most divineMake blissful harmony:Voices that seem to shine,For what else clears the sky?Tunes can we hear, but not the singers see,The tunes divine, and so the singers be.Lo, how the firmamentWithin an azure foldThe flock of stars hath pent,That we might them behold,Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light,Nor can their crystals such reflection give.What then doth make the element so bright?The heavens are come down upon earth to live:But hearken to the song,Glory to glory’s King,And peace all men among,These quiristers do sing.Angels they are, as also (shepherds) HeWhom in our fear we do admire to see.Let not amazement blindYour souls, said he, annoy:To you and all mankindMy message bringeth joy.For lo! the world’s great Shepherd now is born,A blessèd Babe, an Infant full of power:After long night uprisen is the morn,Renowning Bethlem in the Saviour.Sprung is the perfect day,By prophets seen afar:Sprung is the mirthful May,Which winter cannot mar.In David’s city doth this Sun appearClouded in flesh, yet, shepherds, sit we here?Edmund Bolton

SWEET music, sweeter far

Than any song is sweet:

Sweet music, heavenly rare,

Mine ears, O peers, doth greet.

You gentle flocks, whose fleeces pearled with dew

Resemble heaven, whom golden drops make bright,

Listen, O listen, now, O not to you

Our pipes make sport to shorten weary night:

But voices most divine

Make blissful harmony:

Voices that seem to shine,

For what else clears the sky?

Tunes can we hear, but not the singers see,

The tunes divine, and so the singers be.

Lo, how the firmamentWithin an azure foldThe flock of stars hath pent,That we might them behold,Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light,Nor can their crystals such reflection give.What then doth make the element so bright?The heavens are come down upon earth to live:But hearken to the song,Glory to glory’s King,And peace all men among,These quiristers do sing.Angels they are, as also (shepherds) HeWhom in our fear we do admire to see.

Lo, how the firmament

Within an azure fold

The flock of stars hath pent,

That we might them behold,

Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light,

Nor can their crystals such reflection give.

What then doth make the element so bright?

The heavens are come down upon earth to live:

But hearken to the song,

Glory to glory’s King,

And peace all men among,

These quiristers do sing.

Angels they are, as also (shepherds) He

Whom in our fear we do admire to see.

Let not amazement blindYour souls, said he, annoy:To you and all mankindMy message bringeth joy.For lo! the world’s great Shepherd now is born,A blessèd Babe, an Infant full of power:After long night uprisen is the morn,Renowning Bethlem in the Saviour.Sprung is the perfect day,By prophets seen afar:Sprung is the mirthful May,Which winter cannot mar.In David’s city doth this Sun appearClouded in flesh, yet, shepherds, sit we here?Edmund Bolton

Let not amazement blind

Your souls, said he, annoy:

To you and all mankind

My message bringeth joy.

For lo! the world’s great Shepherd now is born,

A blessèd Babe, an Infant full of power:

After long night uprisen is the morn,

Renowning Bethlem in the Saviour.

Sprung is the perfect day,

By prophets seen afar:

Sprung is the mirthful May,

Which winter cannot mar.

In David’s city doth this Sun appear

Clouded in flesh, yet, shepherds, sit we here?

Edmund Bolton

FAIR eastern star, that art ordained to runBefore the sages, to the rising sun,Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloudOf this poor stable can thy Maker shroud:Ye heavenly bodies glory to be bright,And are esteemed as ye are rich in light,But here on earth is taught a different way,Since under this low roof the Highest lay.Jerusalem erects her stately towers,Displays her windows and adorns her bowers;Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark,Let Herod’s palace still continue dark;Each school and synagogue thy force repels,There Pride enthroned in misty error dwells:The temple, where the priests maintain their quire,Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire,While this weak cottage all thy splendour takes:A joyful gate of every chink it makes.Here shines no golden roof, no ivory stair,No king exalted in a stately chair,Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled,But straw and hay enwrap a speechless Child.Yet Sabae’s lords before this Babe unfoldTheir treasures, offering incense, myrrh, and gold.The crib becomes an altar: therefore diesNo ox nor sheep; for in their fodder liesThe Prince of Peace, who, thankful for His bed,Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed:The quintessence of earth He takes, and fees,And precious gums distilled from weeping trees;Rich metals and sweet odours now declareThe glorious blessings which His laws prepare,To clear us from the base and loathsome floodOf sense, and make us fit for angels’ food,Who lift to God for us the holy smokeOf fervent prayers with which we Him invoke,And try our actions in the searching fire,By which the seraphims our lips inspire:No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect,We shall exhale our vapours up direct:No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights defacePerpetual sighs which seek a happy place.Sir John Beaumont

FAIR eastern star, that art ordained to run

Before the sages, to the rising sun,

Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud

Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud:

Ye heavenly bodies glory to be bright,

And are esteemed as ye are rich in light,

But here on earth is taught a different way,

Since under this low roof the Highest lay.

Jerusalem erects her stately towers,

Displays her windows and adorns her bowers;

Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark,

Let Herod’s palace still continue dark;

Each school and synagogue thy force repels,

There Pride enthroned in misty error dwells:

The temple, where the priests maintain their quire,

Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire,

While this weak cottage all thy splendour takes:

A joyful gate of every chink it makes.

Here shines no golden roof, no ivory stair,

No king exalted in a stately chair,

Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled,

But straw and hay enwrap a speechless Child.

Yet Sabae’s lords before this Babe unfold

Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh, and gold.

The crib becomes an altar: therefore diesNo ox nor sheep; for in their fodder liesThe Prince of Peace, who, thankful for His bed,Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed:The quintessence of earth He takes, and fees,And precious gums distilled from weeping trees;Rich metals and sweet odours now declareThe glorious blessings which His laws prepare,To clear us from the base and loathsome floodOf sense, and make us fit for angels’ food,Who lift to God for us the holy smokeOf fervent prayers with which we Him invoke,And try our actions in the searching fire,By which the seraphims our lips inspire:No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect,We shall exhale our vapours up direct:No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights defacePerpetual sighs which seek a happy place.Sir John Beaumont

The crib becomes an altar: therefore dies

No ox nor sheep; for in their fodder lies

The Prince of Peace, who, thankful for His bed,

Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed:

The quintessence of earth He takes, and fees,

And precious gums distilled from weeping trees;

Rich metals and sweet odours now declare

The glorious blessings which His laws prepare,

To clear us from the base and loathsome flood

Of sense, and make us fit for angels’ food,

Who lift to God for us the holy smoke

Of fervent prayers with which we Him invoke,

And try our actions in the searching fire,

By which the seraphims our lips inspire:

No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect,

We shall exhale our vapours up direct:

No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights deface

Perpetual sighs which seek a happy place.

Sir John Beaumont

RUN, shepherds, run, where Bethlehem blest appears,We bring the best of news; be not dismayed;A Saviour there is born more old than years,Amidst heaven’s rolling height this earth who stayed.In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maidA weakling did Him bear, who all upbears;There is He poorly swaddled, in manger laid,To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize His birth.This is that night—no, day, grown great with bliss,In which the power of Satan broken is:In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,And cope of stars re-echoèd the same.William Drummond

RUN, shepherds, run, where Bethlehem blest appears,

We bring the best of news; be not dismayed;

A Saviour there is born more old than years,

Amidst heaven’s rolling height this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid

A weakling did Him bear, who all upbears;

There is He poorly swaddled, in manger laid,

To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:

Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize His birth.

This is that night—no, day, grown great with bliss,

In which the power of Satan broken is:

In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!

Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,

And cope of stars re-echoèd the same.

William Drummond

OTHAN the fairest day, thrice fairer night!Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise,Of which that golden eye which clears the skiesIs but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!And blessèd ye, in silly pastor’s sight,Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now liesThat heaven-sent Youngling, holy-maid-born Wight,Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,Though withered—blessèd grass that hath the graceTo deck and be a carpet to that place!Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees,And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.William Drummond

OTHAN the fairest day, thrice fairer night!

Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise,

Of which that golden eye which clears the skies

Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!

And blessèd ye, in silly pastor’s sight,

Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies

That heaven-sent Youngling, holy-maid-born Wight,

Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!

Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,Though withered—blessèd grass that hath the graceTo deck and be a carpet to that place!Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees,And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.William Drummond

Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,

Though withered—blessèd grass that hath the grace

To deck and be a carpet to that place!

Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,

Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees,

And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.

William Drummond

SWEET baby, sleep! What ails my dear?What ails my darling thus to cry?Be still, my child, and lend thine earTo hear me sing thy lullaby.My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep!Thou blessèd soul, what canst thou fear?What thing to thee can mischief do?Thy God is now thy Father dear;His holy spouse thy mother too.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep!Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing,For thee great blessings ripening be;Thine Eldest Brother is a King,And hath a kingdom bought for thee.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;For whosoever thee offendsBy thy protector threatened are,And God and angels are thy friends.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.When God with us was dwelling here,In little babes He took delight:Such innocents as thou, my dear,Are ever precious in His sight.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.A little Infant once was He,And strength in weakness then was laidUpon His virgin-mother’s knee,That power to thee might be conveyed.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.In this thy frailty and thy needHe friends and helpers doth prepare,Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,For of thy weal they tender are.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.The King of kings, when He was born,Had not so much for outward ease;By Him such dressings were not worn,Nor such-like swaddling clothes as these.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.Within a manger lodged thy Lord,Where oxen lay and asses fed;Warm rooms we do to thee afford,An easy cradle or a bed.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.The wants that He did then sustainHave purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;And by His torments and His painThy rest and ease securèd be.My baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this,A promise and an earnest gotOf gaining everlasting bliss,Though thou, my babe, perceiv’st it not.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.George Wither

SWEET baby, sleep! What ails my dear?

What ails my darling thus to cry?

Be still, my child, and lend thine ear

To hear me sing thy lullaby.

My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;

Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep!

Thou blessèd soul, what canst thou fear?What thing to thee can mischief do?Thy God is now thy Father dear;His holy spouse thy mother too.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep!

Thou blessèd soul, what canst thou fear?

What thing to thee can mischief do?

Thy God is now thy Father dear;

His holy spouse thy mother too.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep!

Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing,For thee great blessings ripening be;Thine Eldest Brother is a King,And hath a kingdom bought for thee.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be;

Thine Eldest Brother is a King,

And hath a kingdom bought for thee.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;For whosoever thee offendsBy thy protector threatened are,And God and angels are thy friends.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;

For whosoever thee offends

By thy protector threatened are,

And God and angels are thy friends.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,In little babes He took delight:Such innocents as thou, my dear,Are ever precious in His sight.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,

In little babes He took delight:

Such innocents as thou, my dear,

Are ever precious in His sight.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little Infant once was He,And strength in weakness then was laidUpon His virgin-mother’s knee,That power to thee might be conveyed.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little Infant once was He,

And strength in weakness then was laid

Upon His virgin-mother’s knee,

That power to thee might be conveyed.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy needHe friends and helpers doth prepare,Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,For of thy weal they tender are.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need

He friends and helpers doth prepare,

Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,

For of thy weal they tender are.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when He was born,Had not so much for outward ease;By Him such dressings were not worn,Nor such-like swaddling clothes as these.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when He was born,

Had not so much for outward ease;

By Him such dressings were not worn,

Nor such-like swaddling clothes as these.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,Where oxen lay and asses fed;Warm rooms we do to thee afford,An easy cradle or a bed.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,

Where oxen lay and asses fed;

Warm rooms we do to thee afford,

An easy cradle or a bed.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustainHave purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;And by His torments and His painThy rest and ease securèd be.My baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustain

Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;

And by His torments and His pain

Thy rest and ease securèd be.

My baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this,A promise and an earnest gotOf gaining everlasting bliss,Though thou, my babe, perceiv’st it not.Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.George Wither

Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this,

A promise and an earnest got

Of gaining everlasting bliss,

Though thou, my babe, perceiv’st it not.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

George Wither

AS on the night before this happy morn,A blessèd angel unto shepherds toldWhere (in a stable) He was poorly born,Whom nor the earth nor heaven of heavens can hold:Thro’ Bethlehem rungThis news at their return;Yea, angels sungThat God with us was born;And they made mirth because we should not mourn.Their angel carol sing we, then,To God on high all glory be,For peace on earth bestoweth He,And sheweth favour unto men.This favour Christ vouchsafèd for our sake;To buy us thrones, He in a manger lay;Our weakness took, that we His strength might take;And was disrobed that He might us array;Our flesh He wore,Our sin to wear away;Our curse He bore,That we escape it may;And wept for us, that we might sing for aye.With angels therefore, sing again,To God on high all glory be,For peace on earth bestoweth He,And sheweth favour unto men.Giles Fletcher

AS on the night before this happy morn,

A blessèd angel unto shepherds told

Where (in a stable) He was poorly born,

Whom nor the earth nor heaven of heavens can hold:

Thro’ Bethlehem rung

This news at their return;

Yea, angels sung

That God with us was born;

And they made mirth because we should not mourn.

Their angel carol sing we, then,

To God on high all glory be,

For peace on earth bestoweth He,

And sheweth favour unto men.

This favour Christ vouchsafèd for our sake;To buy us thrones, He in a manger lay;Our weakness took, that we His strength might take;And was disrobed that He might us array;Our flesh He wore,Our sin to wear away;Our curse He bore,That we escape it may;And wept for us, that we might sing for aye.With angels therefore, sing again,To God on high all glory be,For peace on earth bestoweth He,And sheweth favour unto men.Giles Fletcher

This favour Christ vouchsafèd for our sake;

To buy us thrones, He in a manger lay;

Our weakness took, that we His strength might take;

And was disrobed that He might us array;

Our flesh He wore,

Our sin to wear away;

Our curse He bore,

That we escape it may;

And wept for us, that we might sing for aye.

With angels therefore, sing again,

To God on high all glory be,

For peace on earth bestoweth He,

And sheweth favour unto men.

Giles Fletcher

WHO can forget—never to be forgot—The time, that all the world in slumber lies,When, like the stars, the singing angels shotTo earth, and heaven awakèd all his eyesTo see another sun at midnight riseOn earth? Was never sight of pareil fame,For God before man like Himself did frame,But God Himself now like a mortal man became.A Child He was, and had not learnt to speak,That with His word the world before did make;His mother’s arms Him bore, He was so weak,That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake,See how small room my infant Lord doth take,Whom all the world is not enough to hold!Who of His years, or of His age hath told?Never such age so young, never a child so old.And yet but newly He was infanted,And yet already He was sought to die;Yet scarcely born, already banishèd;Not able yet to go, and forced to fly:But scarcely fled away, when by and byThe tyrant’s sword with blood is all defiled,And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild,Cries, ‘O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child!’Egypt His nurse became, where Nilus springs,Who, straight to entertain the rising sun,The hasty harvest in his bosom brings;But now for drought the fields were all undone,And now with waters all is overrun:So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow,When once they felt the sun so near them glow,That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow.The angels carolled loud their song of peace;The cursèd oracles were strucken dumb;To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press;To see their King the kingly sophies come;And them to guide unto his Master’s home,A star comes dancing up the orient,That springs for joy over the strawy tent,Where gold, to make their Prince a crown, they all present.Giles Fletcher

WHO can forget—never to be forgot—

The time, that all the world in slumber lies,

When, like the stars, the singing angels shot

To earth, and heaven awakèd all his eyes

To see another sun at midnight rise

On earth? Was never sight of pareil fame,

For God before man like Himself did frame,

But God Himself now like a mortal man became.

A Child He was, and had not learnt to speak,That with His word the world before did make;His mother’s arms Him bore, He was so weak,That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake,See how small room my infant Lord doth take,Whom all the world is not enough to hold!Who of His years, or of His age hath told?Never such age so young, never a child so old.

A Child He was, and had not learnt to speak,

That with His word the world before did make;

His mother’s arms Him bore, He was so weak,

That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake,

See how small room my infant Lord doth take,

Whom all the world is not enough to hold!

Who of His years, or of His age hath told?

Never such age so young, never a child so old.

And yet but newly He was infanted,And yet already He was sought to die;Yet scarcely born, already banishèd;Not able yet to go, and forced to fly:But scarcely fled away, when by and byThe tyrant’s sword with blood is all defiled,And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild,Cries, ‘O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child!’

And yet but newly He was infanted,

And yet already He was sought to die;

Yet scarcely born, already banishèd;

Not able yet to go, and forced to fly:

But scarcely fled away, when by and by

The tyrant’s sword with blood is all defiled,

And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild,

Cries, ‘O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child!’

Egypt His nurse became, where Nilus springs,Who, straight to entertain the rising sun,The hasty harvest in his bosom brings;But now for drought the fields were all undone,And now with waters all is overrun:So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow,When once they felt the sun so near them glow,That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow.

Egypt His nurse became, where Nilus springs,

Who, straight to entertain the rising sun,

The hasty harvest in his bosom brings;

But now for drought the fields were all undone,

And now with waters all is overrun:

So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow,

When once they felt the sun so near them glow,

That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow.

The angels carolled loud their song of peace;The cursèd oracles were strucken dumb;To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press;To see their King the kingly sophies come;And them to guide unto his Master’s home,A star comes dancing up the orient,That springs for joy over the strawy tent,Where gold, to make their Prince a crown, they all present.Giles Fletcher

The angels carolled loud their song of peace;

The cursèd oracles were strucken dumb;

To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press;

To see their King the kingly sophies come;

And them to guide unto his Master’s home,

A star comes dancing up the orient,

That springs for joy over the strawy tent,

Where gold, to make their Prince a crown, they all present.

Giles Fletcher

[Sung to the King in the Presence at Whitehall.]

Chorus.WHAT sweeter music can we bringThan a carol, for to singThe birth of this our heavenly King?Awake the voice! awake the string!Heart, ear, and eye, and every thingAwake! the while the active fingerRuns division with the singer.[From the flourish they come to the song.]1. Dark and dull night, fly hence away,And give the honour to this day,That sees December turn’d to May.2. If we may ask the reason, sayThe why and wherefore all things hereSeem like the spring-time of the year?3. Why does the chilling winter’s mornSmile like a field beset with corn?Or smell like to a mead new shorn,Thus on the sudden? 4. Come and seeThe cause why things thus fragrant be:’Tis He is born whose quickening birthGives life and lustre, public mirth,To heaven and the under-earth.Chorus.We see Him come, and know Him ours,Who with His sunshine and His showersTurns all the patient ground to flowers.1. The Darling of the world is come,And fit it is we find a roomTo welcome Him. 2. The nobler partOf all the house here is the heart.Chorus.Which we will give Him; and bequeathThis holly and this ivy wreath,To do Him honour; who’s our King,And Lord of all this revelling.Robert Herrick

Chorus.

WHAT sweeter music can we bring

Than a carol, for to sing

The birth of this our heavenly King?

Awake the voice! awake the string!

Heart, ear, and eye, and every thing

Awake! the while the active finger

Runs division with the singer.

[From the flourish they come to the song.]

1. Dark and dull night, fly hence away,And give the honour to this day,That sees December turn’d to May.

1. Dark and dull night, fly hence away,

And give the honour to this day,

That sees December turn’d to May.

2. If we may ask the reason, sayThe why and wherefore all things hereSeem like the spring-time of the year?

2. If we may ask the reason, say

The why and wherefore all things here

Seem like the spring-time of the year?

3. Why does the chilling winter’s mornSmile like a field beset with corn?Or smell like to a mead new shorn,Thus on the sudden? 4. Come and seeThe cause why things thus fragrant be:

3. Why does the chilling winter’s morn

Smile like a field beset with corn?

Or smell like to a mead new shorn,

Thus on the sudden? 4. Come and see

The cause why things thus fragrant be:

’Tis He is born whose quickening birthGives life and lustre, public mirth,To heaven and the under-earth.

’Tis He is born whose quickening birth

Gives life and lustre, public mirth,

To heaven and the under-earth.

Chorus.We see Him come, and know Him ours,Who with His sunshine and His showersTurns all the patient ground to flowers.

Chorus.

We see Him come, and know Him ours,

Who with His sunshine and His showers

Turns all the patient ground to flowers.

1. The Darling of the world is come,And fit it is we find a roomTo welcome Him. 2. The nobler partOf all the house here is the heart.

1. The Darling of the world is come,

And fit it is we find a room

To welcome Him. 2. The nobler part

Of all the house here is the heart.

Chorus.Which we will give Him; and bequeathThis holly and this ivy wreath,To do Him honour; who’s our King,And Lord of all this revelling.Robert Herrick

Chorus.

Which we will give Him; and bequeath

This holly and this ivy wreath,

To do Him honour; who’s our King,

And Lord of all this revelling.

Robert Herrick

IN numbers, and but these few,I sing Thy birth, O Jesu!Thou pretty Baby, born hereWith sup’rabundant scorn here:Who for Thy princely port here,Hadst for Thy placeOf birth, a baseOut-stable for Thy court here.Instead of neat enclosuresOf interwoven osiers,Instead of fragrant posiesOf daffodils and roses,Thy cradle, kingly Stranger,As gospel tells,Was nothing elseBut here a homely manger.But we with silks, not crewels,With sundry precious jewels,And lily work will dress Thee;And, as we dispossess TheeOf clouts, we’ll make a chamber,Sweet Babe, for Thee,Of ivory,And plastered round with amber.The Jews they did disdain Thee,But we will entertain Thee,With glories to await hereUpon Thy princely state here,And more for love than pity.From year to yearWe’ll make Thee hereA free-born of our city.Robert Herrick

IN numbers, and but these few,

I sing Thy birth, O Jesu!

Thou pretty Baby, born here

With sup’rabundant scorn here:

Who for Thy princely port here,

Hadst for Thy place

Of birth, a base

Out-stable for Thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosuresOf interwoven osiers,Instead of fragrant posiesOf daffodils and roses,Thy cradle, kingly Stranger,As gospel tells,Was nothing elseBut here a homely manger.

Instead of neat enclosures

Of interwoven osiers,

Instead of fragrant posies

Of daffodils and roses,

Thy cradle, kingly Stranger,

As gospel tells,

Was nothing else

But here a homely manger.

But we with silks, not crewels,With sundry precious jewels,And lily work will dress Thee;And, as we dispossess TheeOf clouts, we’ll make a chamber,Sweet Babe, for Thee,Of ivory,And plastered round with amber.

But we with silks, not crewels,

With sundry precious jewels,

And lily work will dress Thee;

And, as we dispossess Thee

Of clouts, we’ll make a chamber,

Sweet Babe, for Thee,

Of ivory,

And plastered round with amber.

The Jews they did disdain Thee,But we will entertain Thee,With glories to await hereUpon Thy princely state here,And more for love than pity.From year to yearWe’ll make Thee hereA free-born of our city.Robert Herrick

The Jews they did disdain Thee,

But we will entertain Thee,

With glories to await here

Upon Thy princely state here,

And more for love than pity.

From year to year

We’ll make Thee here

A free-born of our city.

Robert Herrick

ALL after pleasures as I rid one day,My horse and I both tired, body and mind,With full cry of affections quite astray,I took up in the next inn I could find.There, when I came, whom found I but my dear—My dearest Lord; expecting till the griefOf pleasures brought me to Him; ready thereTo be all passengers’ most sweet relief?O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted, light,Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger;Since my dark soul and brutish is Thy right,To man, of all beasts, be not Thou a stranger.Furnish and deck my soul, that Thou may’st haveA better lodging than a rack or grave.The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?My God, no hymn for thee?My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feedsOf thoughts and words and deeds.The pasture is Thy word, the streams Thy grace,Enriching every place.Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powersOutsing the daylight hours.Then we will chide the sun for letting nightTake up his place and right:We sing one common Lord; wherefore he shouldHimself the candle hold.I will go searching till I find a sunShall stay till we have done;A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladlyAs frost-nipt suns look sadly.Then we will sing and shine all our own day,And one another pay.His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,Till ev’n His beams sing and my music shine.George Herbert

ALL after pleasures as I rid one day,My horse and I both tired, body and mind,With full cry of affections quite astray,I took up in the next inn I could find.

ALL after pleasures as I rid one day,

My horse and I both tired, body and mind,

With full cry of affections quite astray,

I took up in the next inn I could find.

There, when I came, whom found I but my dear—My dearest Lord; expecting till the griefOf pleasures brought me to Him; ready thereTo be all passengers’ most sweet relief?

There, when I came, whom found I but my dear—

My dearest Lord; expecting till the grief

Of pleasures brought me to Him; ready there

To be all passengers’ most sweet relief?

O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted, light,Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger;Since my dark soul and brutish is Thy right,To man, of all beasts, be not Thou a stranger.

O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted, light,

Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger;

Since my dark soul and brutish is Thy right,

To man, of all beasts, be not Thou a stranger.

Furnish and deck my soul, that Thou may’st haveA better lodging than a rack or grave.

Furnish and deck my soul, that Thou may’st have

A better lodging than a rack or grave.

The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?My God, no hymn for thee?My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feedsOf thoughts and words and deeds.The pasture is Thy word, the streams Thy grace,Enriching every place.

The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?

My God, no hymn for thee?

My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feeds

Of thoughts and words and deeds.

The pasture is Thy word, the streams Thy grace,

Enriching every place.

Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powersOutsing the daylight hours.Then we will chide the sun for letting nightTake up his place and right:We sing one common Lord; wherefore he shouldHimself the candle hold.

Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers

Outsing the daylight hours.

Then we will chide the sun for letting night

Take up his place and right:

We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should

Himself the candle hold.

I will go searching till I find a sunShall stay till we have done;A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladlyAs frost-nipt suns look sadly.Then we will sing and shine all our own day,And one another pay.

I will go searching till I find a sun

Shall stay till we have done;

A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly

As frost-nipt suns look sadly.

Then we will sing and shine all our own day,

And one another pay.

His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,Till ev’n His beams sing and my music shine.George Herbert

His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,

Till ev’n His beams sing and my music shine.

George Herbert

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