Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By Richard Crashaw (1613?–1640)A Hymn of the Nativity
Sung by the Shepherds | ||
| Chorus | COME 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. | ||
| We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest | 5 | |
| Bright dawn of our eternal day! | ||
| We saw Thine eyes break from their east | ||
| And chase the trembling shades away; | ||
| We saw Thee, and we bless the sight, | ||
| We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light! | 10 | |
| 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 ye powers of heaven and earth | 15 | |
| To fit a bed for this huge birth. | ||
| Thyrsis. | Proud world, said I, cease your contest, | |
| And let the mighty babe alone, | ||
| The phœnix builds the phœnix’ nest, | ||
| Love’s architecture is His own. | 20 | |
| The Babe, whose birth embraves this morn, | ||
| Made His own bed ere He was born. | ||
| Tityrus. | I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow, | |
| Come hovering o’er the place’s head, | ||
| Offering their whitest sheets of snow, | 25 | |
| 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 the obsequious seraphims | |
| Their rosy fleece of fire bestow; | 30 | |
| 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? | ||
| Tityrus. | No, no, your King’s not yet to seek | 35 |
| 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 I, no way but so, | ||
| Not to lie cold yet sleep in snow. | 40 | |
| 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 | 45 | |
| Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth. | ||
| 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, | 50 | |
| Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes | ||
| Ourselves become our own best sacrifice. | ||