A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY.

It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise,
Not from the east, but from Thy eyes.

CHORUS: It was Thy day, sweet, &c.

THYRSIS.

Winter cried 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 frosts he scatter'd flowers.

CHORUS: By those sweet eyes', &c.

BOTH.

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Young dawn of our eternal day;
We saw Thine eyes break from the East,
And chase the trembling shades away;

We saw Thee, and we blest the sight,
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

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, the powers of heaven and earth,
To fit a bed for this huge birth.

Proud world, said I, cease your contest,
And let the mighty Babe alone;
The Phoenix builds the Phoenix' nest,
Love's architecture is his own.

A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY.

The Babe, whose birth embraces this morn,
Made His own bed ere He was born.

I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow,
Come hovering o'er the place's head,
Off'ring their whitest sheets of snow,
To furnish the fair infant's bed.
Forbear, said I, be not too bold,
Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold.

THYRSIS.

I saw th' obsequious seraphim

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?

BOTH.

No, no, your King's not yet to seek
Where to repose His royal head;
See, see how soon His new-bloom'd cheek
'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed.
Sweet choice, said we, no way but so,
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow!

FULL CHORUS.

Welcome all wonders 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.

She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in Thy weeping eye;

She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lie;
She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries
The points of her young eagle's eyes.

Welcome, tho' not to those gay flies
Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings,
Slippery souls in smiling eyes-

But to poor shepherds, homespun things,
Whose wealth's their flocks, whose wit's to be

Well-read in their simplicity.

Yet, when young April's husband showers.
Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed,
We'll bring the first-born of her flowers,
To kiss Thy feet, and crown Thy head.
To Thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep
The shepherds while they feed their sheep.

To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King
Of simple graces and sweet loves!
Each of us his lamb will bring,

Each his pair of silver doves!

At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes,
Ourselves become our own best sacrifice!

Richard Crashaw.

HAPPY art thou, whom God does bless
With the full choice of thine own happiness;
And happier yet, because thou'rt blest
With prudence how to choose the best;
In books and gardens thou hast plac'd aright
(Things which thou well dost understand,
And both dost make with thy laborious hand)
Thy noble, innocent delight;

And in thy virtuous wife, when thou again dost meet,
Both pleasures more refin'd and sweet;

The fairest garden in her looks,

And in her mind the wisest books.

Oh, who would change these soft, yet solid joys,

For empty shows and senseless noise;

And all which rank ambition breeds,

Which seem such beauteous flowers, and are such poisonous

weeds?

When God did man in His own likeness make,

As much as clay, though of the purest kind,

By the great Potter's art refin'd,
Could the divine impression take,
He thought it fit to place him where
A kind of Heaven too did appear,
As far as Earth could such a likeness bear:
That man no happiness might want,
Which Earth to her first master could afford,
He did a garden for him plant

By the quick hand of His omnipotent word.

As the chief help and joy of human life,

He gave him the first gift-first, ev'n before a wife.

THE GARDEN.

For God, the universal Architect,

'T had been as easy to erect

A Louvre or Escurial, or a tower

That might with Heaven communication hold,
As Babel vainly thought to do of old:

He wanted not the skill or power;

In the world's fabrick those were shown, And the materials were all His own.

But well He knew what place would best agree

With innocence, and with felicity:

And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain;
If any part of either yet remain,

If any part of either we expect,

This may our judgment in the search direct;

God the first Garden made, and the first City Cain.

O blessed shades! O gentle, cool retreat

From all th' immoderate heat,

In which the frantic world does burn and sweat!

This does the lion-star, ambition's rage,

This avarice, the dog-star's thirst, assuage;
Everywhere else their fatal power we see,
They make and rule men's wretched destiny;
They neither set nor disappear,

But tyrannize o'er all the year;

Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence here. The birds that dance from bough to bough,

And sing above in every tree,

Are not from fears and cares more free

Than we, who lie, or sit, or walk, below,
And should by right be singers too.

What prince's choice of music can excel

That which within this shade does dwell?

To which we nothing pay or give ;
They, like all other poets, live