The Shepherds

The first light they beheld was bright and gay,

And turned their night to day;

But to this later light they saw in Him

Their day was dark and dim.

50.

HENRY VAUGHAN

CHRIST'S NATIVITY

WAKE, glad heart! get up and sing!

AW

AIt is the Birthday of thy King.

Awake! awake!

The sun doth shake

Light from his locks, and, all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.

Awake! awake! hark how th' wood rings,
Winds whisper, and the busy springs
A concert make!

Awake! awake!

Man is their high-priest, and should rise
To offer up the sacrifice.

I would I were some bird or star,
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far
Above this inn,

And road of sin!

Then either star or bird should be
Shining or singing still to Thee.

Christ's Nativity

I would I had in my best part

Fit rooms for Thee! or that my
Were so clean as

Thy manger was!

But I am all filth, and obscene:

heart

Yet, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean.

Sweet Jesu! will then. Let no more

This leper haunt and soil Thy door!
Cure him, ease him,

O release him!

And let once more, by mystic birth,
The Lord of life be born in earth.

HENRY VAUGHAN

51. AND THEY LAID HIM IN A MANGER

APPY crib, that wert alone

HAP

To my God, bed, cradle, throne!

Whilst thy glorious vileness I

View with divine fancy's eye,

Sordid filth seems all the cost,

State, and splendour, crowns do boast.
See heaven's sacred majesty
Humbled beneath poverty;
Swaddled up in homely rags,

On a bed of straw and flags!

He whose hands the heavens display'd,
And the world's foundations laid,

And they laid Him in a Manger

From the world almost exiled,

Of all ornaments despoil'd.

Perfumes bathe Him not, new-born,

Persian mantles not adorn;

Nor do the rich roofs look bright,
With the jasper's orient light.
Where, O royal Infant, be
Th' ensigns of Thy majesty;
Thy Sire's equalizing state;

And Thy sceptre that rules fate?

Where's Thy angel-guarded throne,

Whence Thy laws Thou didst make known—
Laws which heaven, earth, hell, obey'd?

These, ah! these aside He laid;

Would the emblem be-of pride
By humility outvied ?

SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE

52.

AT THE SIGN OF THE HEART

UT art Thou come, dear Saviour? hath Thy love
Thus made Thee stoop, and leave Thy throne above

Thy lofty heavens, and thus Thyself to dress
In dust to visit mortals? Could no less

A condescension serve? and after all

The mean reception of a cratch and stall?

Dear Lord, I'll fetch Thee thence! I have a room ('Tis poor, but 'tis my best) if Thou wilt come

At the Sign of the Heart

Within so small a cell, where I would fain
Mine and the world's Redeemer entertain,

I mean, my Heart: 'tis sluttish, I confess,
And will not mend Thy lodging, Lord, unless
Thou send before Thy harbinger, I mean
Thy pure and purging Grace, to make it clean

And sweep its nasty corners; then I'll try
To wash it also with a weeping eye.

And when 'tis swept and wash'd, I then will go

And, with Thy leave, I'll fetch some flowers that grow

In Thine own garden, Faith and Love, to Thee;
With these I'll dress it up, and these shall be

My rosemary and bays. Yet when my best
Is done, the room's not fit for such a Guest.

But here's the cure; Thy presence, Lord, alone
Will make a stall a Court, a cratch a Throne.

YET

Should of his own accord

Friendly himself invite,

And say, 'I'll be your guest to-morrow night,'

How should we stir ourselves, call and command

All hands to work!

Let no man idle stand.

'Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall,

See they be fitted all;

Let there be room to eat,

And order taken that there want no meat.

See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.