In The Yule-Log Glow Volume Iv Part 9

THE BURNING BABE.

As I in h.o.a.ry winter's night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear, Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.

Alas! quoth he, but newly born in fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I.

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns: Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns: The fuel justice layeth on, and mercy blows the coals; The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls; For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.

With that he vanish'd out of sight and swiftly shrunk away.

And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas Day.

_Robert Southwell._

CHRIST'S NATIVITY.

Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!

It 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.

I would I had in my best part Fit rooms for Thee! or that my heart Were so clean as Thy manger was!

But I am all filth, and obscene; 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._

AN ODE ON THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR.

In numbers, and but these few, I sing Thy birth, O Jesu!

Thou pretty baby, born here With sup'rabundant scorn here: Who, for Thy princely port here, Hadst for Thy place Of birth a base Out-stable for Thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures Of interwoven osiers, Instead of fragrant posies Of daffodils and roses, Thy cradle, kingly stranger, As gospel tells, Was nothing else But here a homely manger.

But we with silks not crewels, With sundry precious jewels, And lily work will dress Thee; And, as we dispossess Thee Of clouts, we'll make a chamber, Sweet babe, for Thee Of ivory And plaster'd round with amber.

The Jews they did disdain Thee, But we will entertain Thee With glories to await here Upon Thy princely state here; And, more for love than pity, From year to year We'll make Thee here A free-born of our city.

_Robert Herrick._

WHO CAN FORGET?

Who can forget--never to be forgot-- The time, that all the world in slumber lies, When, like the stars, the singing angels shot To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes To see another sun at midnight rise On earth? Was never sight of pareil fame For G.o.d before, man like himself did frame, But G.o.d himself now like a mortal man became.

A child He was, and had not learnt to speak, That with His word the world before did make; His mother's arms Him bore, He was so weak, That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake; See how small room my infant Lord doth take, Whom all the world is not enough to hold!

Who of His years or of His age hath told?

Never such age so young, never a child so old.

And yet but newly He was infanted, And yet already He was sought to die; Yet scarcely born, already banished; Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: But scarcely fled away, when by and by The tyrant's sword with blood is all defiled, And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild, Cries, "O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest Child!"

Egypt His nurse became, where Nilus springs, Who, straight to entertain the rising sun, The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; But now for drought the fields were all undone, And now with waters all is overrun: So fast the Cynthian mountains pour'd their snow, When once they felt the sun so near them glow, That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow.

The angels carolled loud their song of peace; The cursed oracles were strucken dumb; To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press; To see their King, the kingly sophies[S] come; And them to guide unto his Master's home, A star comes dancing up the orient, That springs for joy over the strawy tent, Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present.

_Giles Fletcher._

FOOTNOTE:

[S] Wise men.

THE CHILD JESUS.

A CORNISH CAROL.

Welcome that star in Judah's sky, That voice o'er Bethlehem's palmy glen!

The lamp far sages hailed on high, The tones that thrilled the shepherd men: Glory to G.o.d in loftiest heaven!

Thus angels smote the echoing chord; Glad tidings unto man forgiven, Peace from the presence of the Lord.

The Shepherds sought that birth divine, The Wise Men traced their guided way; There, by strange light and mystic sign, The G.o.d they came to worship lay.

A human Babe in beauty smiled, Where lowing oxen round Him trod: A maiden clasped her awful Child, Pure offspring of the breath of G.o.d.

Those voices from on high are mute, The star the Wise Men saw is dim; But hope still guides the wanderer's foot, And faith renews the angel hymn: Glory to G.o.d in loftiest heaven!

Touch with glad hand the ancient chord; Good tidings unto man forgiven, Peace from the presence of the Lord.

_Robert Stephen Hawker._