The Babe looked up and shewed his face, It was thy day, Sweet! and did rise, Thyrs. Winter chid aloud, and sent The North forgot his fierce intent, And left perfumes instead of scars : Both. We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, Bright dawn of our eternal day! Tit. Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do 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. Thyrs. Proud world, said I, ccase your contest, And let the mighty Babe alone; The phoenix build the phoenix' nest, Love's architecture is all one: The Babe whose birth embraves this morn, HYMN OF THE NATIVITY. Tit. I saw the curled drops, soft and slow, Offering their whitest sheets of snow, To furnish the fair Infant's bed: Your fleece is white, but 't is too cold. Thyrs. I saw the obsequious seraphims Well done, said I; but are you sure Tit. No, no, your King's not yet to seek "Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed. Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow. Both. We saw Thee in thy balmy nest, And chase the trembling shades away. The following poem is by Bishop Jeremy Taylor, whose eloquent prose writings cause him to be regarded as one of the ornaments of the English Church. He was a man of singular humility and piety, and irreproachable in all the duties of life. During the civil troubles, he warmly attached himself to the cause of Charles I., one of whose chap 那 lains he had been, and suffered imprisonment in consequence. He lived to lend the lustre of his name to the era following the Restoration, when a depraved monarch, and a licentious court, had banished both religious and moral purity beyond the circle of their pernicious influence. OF CHRIST'S BIRTH IN AN INN. JEREMY TAYLOR. THE blessed Virgin travailed without pain, A glorious star the sign, But of a greater guest than ever came that way, That is the God of night and day, And over all the pow'rs of heav'n doth reign. It was the time of great Augustus' tax, And then He comes That pays all sums, Even the whole price of lost humanity; And sets us free From the ungodly emperie Of Sin, of Satan, and of Death. Oh, make our hearts, blest God, Thy lodging-place ! Be pleased to rest, For Thou lov'st temples better than an inn, And cause that Sin May not profane the Deity within, And sully o'er the ornaments of grace. CAROL. (From "New Carols for this Merry Time of Christmas," 1661.) ALL you that in this house be here, Remember Christ, that for us died; And spend away with modest cheer In loving sort this Christmas tide. And, whereas plenty God hath sent, Give frankly to your friends in love: The bounteous mind is freely bent, Our table spread within the hall, I know a banquet is at hand, And friendly sort to welcome all That will unto their tacklings stand. The maids are bonny girls, I see, Who have provided much good cheer, And I have here two knives in store, Commend my wits, good lads, therefore, For, if I should, no Christmas pie Would fall, I doubt, unto my share; To fight a battle if I dare. For pastry-crust, like castle walls, And I made captain of the place. The prunes so lovely, look on me, The which I must not let alone. Then, butler, fill me forth some beer, My song hath made me somewhat dry; And so, again, to this good cheer, I'll quickly fall, courageously. And for my master I will pray, With all that of his household are, Both old and young, that long we may |