On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 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 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 41. A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY Chorus. OME we shepherds whose blest sight Сама '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, A Hymn of the Nativity 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 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. 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 East And chase the trembling shades away : We saw Thee and we blest the sight, We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. A Hymn of the Nativity 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, The Babe whose birth embraves this morn, Chorus. The Babe whose birth, &c. Tityrus. I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, Thyrsis. I saw the obsequious seraphins A Hymn of the Nativity For well they now can spare their wings, Tityrus. No, no, your King's not yet to seek Both. Chorus.-Sweet choice (said I), &c. We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, Bright dawn of our eternal day! We saw Thine eyes break from their East 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. A Hymn of the Nativity 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 dips Welcome, though not to those gay flies 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-showers 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 King Of simple graces and sweet loves, |