The Babe looked up and shewed 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.

Thyrs. 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.

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 blessed the sight,-
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

Tit. 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.

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,
Made His own bed ere He was born.

HYMN OF THE NATIVITY.

Tit. I saw the curled 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 't is too cold.

Thyrs. I saw the obsequious seraphims
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?

Tit. No, no, your King's not yet to seek
Where to repose His royal head;
See, see, how soon His new-bloomed cheek

"Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed.
Sweet choice, said I, no way but so

Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.

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 blessed the sight;
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

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

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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,
And lodged in an inn,

A glorious star the sign,

But of a greater guest than ever came that way,
For there He lay

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 !
And in our breast

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,
And never will a niggard prove.

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,
Which, at my dame's commandment be
Now set upon the table here.

And I have here two knives in store,
To lend to him that wanteth one;

Commend my wits, good lads, therefore,
That come now hither having none.

For, if I should, no Christmas pie

Would fall, I doubt, unto my share;
Wherefore, I will my manhood try,

To fight a battle if I dare.

For pastry-crust, like castle walls,
Stands braving me unto my face;
I am not well until it falls,

And I made captain of the place.

The prunes so lovely, look on me,
I cannot choose but venture on:
The pie-meat spiced brave I see,

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
Of God's good blessings have a share.