That no perfume For ever shall presume To pass for odoriferous, But such alone whose sacred pedigree Can prove itself some kin (sweet Name!) to Thee. A thousand blest Arabias dwell; The soul that tastes Thee takes from thence. Of comforts, which Thou hast in keeping! In Pity's soft lap lie a-sleeping! To awake them, And to take them Home, and lodge them in his heart. O that it were as it was wont to be! When Thy old friends of fire, all full of Thee, Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious chase To persecutions; and against the face Of Death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave And sober pace, march on to meet A GRAVE On their bold breasts, about the world they bore Thee, And to the teeth of Hell stood up to teach Thee, In centre of their inmost souls, they wore Thee; Where racks and torments strived, in vain, to reach Thee. Little, alas thought they Who tore the fair breasts of Thy friends, Their fury but made way For Thee, and served them in Thy glorious ends. More freely to transpire That impatient fire, The heart that hides Thee hardly covers? What did their weapons but set wide the doors For Thee? fair, purple doors, of Love's devising ; Of Thy so oft-repeated rising ! Each wound of theirs was Thy new morning, And re-enthroned Thee in Thy rosy nest, 5 With blush of Thine Own blood Thy day adorning : It was the wit of Love o'erflow'd the bounds Of Wrath, and made Thee way through all those wounds. Welcome, dear, all-adorèd Name! For sure there is no knee That knows not Thee: Or, if there be such sons of shame, When stubborn rocks shall bow And hills hang down their heaven-saluting heads Of dust, where in the bashful shades of Night Next to their own low Nothing, they may lie, And couch before the dazzling light of Thy dread majesty. Will not adore Thee, Shall then, with just confusion bow And break before Thee. -:0: In the Holy Nativity of our Lord God: 3 A HYMN SUNG AS BY THE SHEPHERDS. THE HYMN. Chorus. OME, we shepherds, whose blest sight 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-stolen joy He slept; and dreamt of no such thing. While we found out Heaven's fairer eye, And kissed the cradle of our King. Tell Him he rises now, too late Tell him we now can show him more 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. Chorus. It was Thy day, Sweet. THYRSIS. Winter chid aloud, and sent The angry North to wage his wars. By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, Where he meant frost, he scattered flowers. We saw Thee in Thy balmy-nest, Young dawn of our eternal Day! We saw Thine eyes break from their East, And chase the trembling shades away. 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? Chorus.-Contend, the powers. THYRSIS. 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. The Babe whose birth embraves this morn, Made His Own bed ere He was born. Chorus.-The Babe whose. TITYRUS. 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 'tis too cold. Chorus. Forbear, said I. THYRSIS. I saw the obsequious Seraphims Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, |