In The Yule-Log Glow Volume Iv Part 7

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 praised 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 c.h.i.n.k 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 Sabae'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 bed, Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed: The quintessence of earth He takes, and fees, And precious gums distilled from weeping trees; Rich metals and sweet odors now declare The glorious blessings which His laws prepare, To clear us from the base and loathsome flood Of sense and make us fit for angel's food, Who lift to G.o.d for us the holy smoke Of fervent prayers with which we Him invoke, And try our actions in the searching fire By which the seraphims our lips inspire: No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect, We shall exhale our vapors up direct: No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights deface Perpetual sighs which seek a happy place.

_Sir John Beaumont._

A HYMN FOR THE EPIPHANY.

SUNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS.

_1 King._ Bright Babe! whose awful beauties make The morn incur a sweet mistake; _2 King._ For whom the officious heavens devise To disinherit the sun's rise; _3 King._ Delicately to displace The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face; _1 King._ O Thou born King of loves!

_2 King._ Of lights!

_3 King._ Of joys!

_Chorus._ Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see!

For love of Thee, Thus far from home The East is come To seek herself in Thy sweet eyes.

_1 King._ We who strangely went astray, Lost in a bright Meridian night; _2 King._ A darkness made of too much day; _3 King._ Beckoned from far By Thy fair star, Lo, at last have found our way.

_Chorus._ To Thee, Thou Day of Night! Thou East of West!

Lo, we at last have found the way To Thee, the world's great universal East, The general and indifferent day.

_1 King._ All-circling point! all-centring sphere!

The world's one round eternal year: _2 King._ Whose full and all-unwrinkled face Nor sinks nor swells with time or place; _3 King._ But everywhere and every while Is one consistent solid smile, _1 King._ Not vexed and tost, _2 King._ 'Twixt spring and frost; _3 King._ Nor by alternate shreds of light; Sordidly shifting hands with shades and night.

_Chorus._ O little All, in Thy embrace, The world lies warm and likes his place; Nor does his full globe fail to be Kissed on both his cheeks by Thee; Time is too narrow for Thy year, Nor makes the whole world Thy half-sphere.

_Richard Crashaw._

A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR.

I sing the birth was born to-night, The author both of life and light; The angels so did sound it.

And like the ravished shepherds said, Who saw the light, and were afraid, Yet searched, and true they found it.

The Son of G.o.d th' eternal king, That did us all salvation bring, And freed the soul from danger; He whom the whole world could not take, The Word, which heaven and earth did make, Was now laid in a manger.

The Father's wisdom willed it so, The Son's obedience knew no No, Both wills were in one stature; And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was now made flesh indeed, And took on Him our nature.

What comfort by Him do we win, Who made himself the price of sin, To make us heirs of glory!

To see this babe all innocence; A martyr born in our defence; Can man forget the story?

_Ben Jonson._

AT CHRISTMAS.

All after pleasures as I rid one day, My horse and I both tried, body and mind, With full cry of affections quite astray, I took up in the next inn I could find.