NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP. (ROBERT SOUTHWELL.) BEHOLD a silly* tender Babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies; The inns are full, no man will yield But forced He is with silly beasts, In crib to shrowd His head. Despise Him not for lying there, An orient pearl is often found In depth of dirty mire. Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, Nor Joseph's simple weed. The crib His chair of State: The beasts are parcel of His pomp, The wooden dish His plate. The persons in that poor attire, His royal liveries wear, The Prince himself is come from Heaven, This pomp is prized there. With joy approach, O Christian wight, And highly praise His humble pomp, Which He from Heaven doth bring. • Simple. A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR. (BEN JONSON.) I SING the birth was born to-night, Yet searched, and true they found it. The Son of God, th' Eternal King, That did us all salvation bring, And freed the 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, And as that wisdom had decreed, What comfort by Him do we win, To make us heirs of Glory! To see this babe, all innocence, Can man forget this story? 1 FOR CHRISTMAS DAY. The following Christmas hymn is by Bishop Hall, one of the earliest of our satiric poets, and one of the most celebrated of our old divines. He was contemporary with Shakspeare, Jonson, Spenser, and the other lights of the Elizabethan age. He, however, survived them all, and passing through the troublous times of the Commonwealth, exposed to the persecutions of the Roundhead party, died at Higham, near Norwich, in 1656. FOR CHRISTMAS DAY. (BISHOP HALL.) IMMORTAL Babe, who this dear day 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 blessed maid, smile and adore The God thy womb and arms have bore. Star, angels, shepherds, and wild sages, Restored frame of Heaven and Earth, Joy in your dear Redeemer's birth! William Drummond, of Hawthornden, the author of the two following sonnets, will be remembered as the friend of Ben Jonson, who undertook a journey to Scotland on foot, for the purpose of seeing, and conversing with one who was only known to him through the medium of correspondence. This meeting, however, did not tend to enhance their mutual regard; and Drummond left behind him at his death a manuscript account of the interview, which indicated in plain terms his disapprobation of Jonson's want of refinement, both as regards his manners and habits. (WILLIAM DRUMMOND.) RUN Shepherds, run where Bethlem blest appears, A Saviour there is born, more old than years, Amidst Heaven's rolling heights this earth who stayed; A weakling did Him bear, who all upbears, This is that night, no-day grown great with bliss, In Heaven be glory, peace unto the Earth. Thus singing through the air the Angels swam, O THAN the fairest day, thrice fairer night! Night to best 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 blessed ye, in silly pastor's sight, Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies That Heaven-sent Youngling, holy Maid-born Wight, Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread, Though withered; blessed grass, that hath the grace Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed, Before the Babe, the Shepherds bowed on knees, And springs ran nectar, honey dropt from trees. |