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 odours 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 angels' food,
Who lift to God 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 vapours up direct:
No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights deface
Perpetual sighs which seek a happy place.

From Jeremy Taylor's Festival
Hymns.

bymn for Christmas-Day.

BEING A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THREE SHEPHERDS.

I. WHERE is this blessed Babe

That hath made

All the world so full of joy

And expectation ;

That glorious boy

That crowns each nation

With a triumphant wreath of blessedness?

2. Where should he be but in the throng,
And among

His angel ministers, that sing

And take wing

Just as may echo to his voice,

And rejoice,

When wing and tongue and all
May so procure their happiness?

3. But he hath other waiters now:
A poor cow,

An ox and mule, stand and behold,
And wonder

That a stable should enfold

Him that can thunder.

Chorus. O what a gracious God have we,

How good how great! even as our misery.

From Jeremy Taylor's Festival
Hymns.

ぐ

A Hymn for Christmas Day.

AWAKE, my soul, and come away :

Put on thy best array;

Lest if thou longer stay

Thou lose some minutes of so blest a day.

Go run

And bid good-morrow to the sun;

Welcome his safe return

To Capricorn,

And that great morn

Wherein a God was born,

Whose story none can tell

But he whose every word's a miracle.

To-day Almightiness grew weak;

The Word itself was mute and could not speak.

That Jacob's star which made the sun

To dazzle if he durst look on,

Now mantled o'er in Bethlehem's night,

Borrowed a star to show him light.

ཡི་ག་ཡིག་ཏུ་ག། ད་དཔོན་རྒྱལ་ཞེན་རིག་

He that begirt each zone,

To whom both poles are one,

Who grasped the Zodiac in his hand
And made it move or stand,

Is now by nature man,

By stature but a span ;
Eternity is now grown short;

A King is born without a court;

The water thirsts; the fountain's dry;
And life, being born, made apt to die.

Chorus. Then let our praises emulate and vie
With his humility!

Since he's exiled from skies

That we might rise,

From low estate of men

Let's sing him up again!
Each man wind up his heart

To bear a part

In that angelic choir and show

His glory high as he was low.

Let's sing towards men goodwill and charity,

Peace upon earth, glory to God on high!

Hallelujah Hallelujah!