In The Yule-Log Glow, Vol. IV | Page 7

God's Son so dear._
Going over the hills,?Through the milk-white snow,?Heard I ewes bleat?While the winds did blow.
_Nowell, etc._
Shepherds many an one?Sat among the sheep;?No man spake more word?Than they had been asleep.
_Nowell, etc._
Quoth I, "Fellows mine,?Why this guise sit ye??Making but dull cheer,?Shepherds though ye be?
_Nowell, etc._
"Shepherds should of right?Leap, and dance, and sing;?Thus to see you sit?Is a right strange thing."
_Nowell, etc._
Quoth these fellows three,?"To Bethl'em town we go,?To see a Mighty Lord?Lie in manger low."
_Nowell, etc._
"How name ye this Lord,?Shepherds?" then said I.?"Very God," they said,?"Come from Heaven high."
_Nowell, etc._
Then to Bethl'em town?We went two and two,?And in a sorry place?Heard the oxen low.
_Nowell, etc._
Therein did we see?A sweet and goodly May,?And a fair old man;?Upon the straw she lay.
_Nowell, etc._
And a little Child?On her arm had she;?"Wot ye who is this?"?Said the hinds to me.
_Nowell, etc._
Ox and ass Him know,?Kneeling on their knee:?Wondrous joy had I?This little Babe to see.
_Nowell, etc._
This is Christ the Lord:?Masters, be ye glad!?Christmas is come in,?And no folk should be sad.
_Nowell, etc._
_William Morris._
_The Worship Of The Babe._
"Rejoice, our Saviour He was born?On Christmas day in the morning."
_Old Carol._
TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD; A PRESENT, BY A CHILD.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower?Unto thy little Saviour;?And tell Him by that bud now blown,?He is a Rose of Sharon known.?When thou hast said so, stick it there?Upon His bib or stomacher;?And tell Him, for good handsel too,?That thou hast brought a whistle new,?Made of a clean, strait oaten reed?To charm His cries at time of need.?Tell Him for coral thou hast none,?But if thou had'st He should have one;?But poor thou art, and known to be?Even as moneyless as He.?Lastly, if thou can'st win a kiss?From those mellifluous lips of His,?Then never take a second on?To spoil the first impression.
_Robert Herrick._
HONOR TO THE KING.
Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord?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.?Look to the presence; are the carpets spread,?The dais o'er the head,?The cushions in the chairs,?And all the candles lighted on the stairs??Perfume the chambers, and in any case?Let each man give attendance in his place."?Thus if the king were coming would we do,?And 'twere good reason too;?For 'tis a duteous thing?To show all honor to an earthly king,?And after all our travail and our cost,?So he be pleased, to think no labor lost.?But at the coming of the King of Heaven,?All's set at six and seven:?We wallow in our sin,?Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.?We entertain Him always like a stranger,?And, as at first, still lodge Him in the manger.
_Christ Church, Oxford, MS._
NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP.
Behold a silly, tender Babe,?In freezing winter night,?In homely manger trembling lies;?Alas! a piteous sight.
The inns are full, no man will yield?This little pilgrim bed;?But forced He is with silly beasts?In crib to shroud His head.
Despise Him not for lying there,?First what He is inquire;?An orient pearl is often found?In depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,?Nor beast that by Him feed;?Weigh not His mother's poor attire,?Nor Joseph's simple weed.
This stable is a prince's court,?This 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 praiséd there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight!?Do homage to thy King;?And highly praise this humble pomp?Which He from heaven doth bring.
_Robert Southwell._
OF THE EPIPHANY.
Fair eastern star, that art ordained to run?Before the sages, to the rising sun,?Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud?Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud:?Ye heavenly bodies glory to be bright,?And are esteemed as ye are rich in light;?But here on earth is taught a different way,?Since under this low roof the Highest lay.?Jerusalem erects her stately towers,?Displays her windows and adorns her bowers;?Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark,?Let Herod's palace still continue dark;?Each school and synagogue thy force repels,?There pride enthroned in misty error dwells;?The temple, where the priests maintain their quire,?Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire,?While this weak cottage all thy splendor takes:?A joyful gate of every chink it makes.?Here shines no golden roof, no ivory stair,?No king exalted in a stately chair,?Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled,?But straw and hay enwrap a speechless child.?Yet Sab?'s lords before this babe unfold?Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh, and gold.?The crib becomes an altar; therefore dies?No ox nor sheep; for in their fodder lies?The Prince of Peace, who, thankful for His