A Hymn Of The Nativity, Sung By The Shepherds
Richard Crashaw
Chorus.
Come we shepherds who have seen
Day’s king deposed by Night’s queen.
Come lift we up our lofty song,
To wake the Sun that sleeps too long.
He in this our general joy,
Slept, and dreamt of no such thing
While we found out the fair-ey’d boy,
And kissed the cradle of our king;
Tell him he rises now too late,
To show us aught worth looking at.
Tell him we now can show him more
Than he e’er show’d to mortal sight,
Than he himself e’er saw before,
Which to be seen needs not his light:
Tell him Tityrus where th’ hast been,
Tell him Thyrsis what th’ hast seen.
Tityrus.
Gloomy night embrac’d the place
Where the noble infant lay:
The babe looked up, and show’d his face,
In spite of darkness it was day.
It was thy day, Sweet, and did rise,
Not from the east, but from thy eyes.
Thyrsis.
Winter chid the world, and sent
The angry North to wage his wars:
The North forgot his fierce intent,
And left perfumes, instead of scars:
By those sweet eyes’ persuasive powers,
Where he meant frosts, he scattered flowers.
Both.
We saw thee in thy balmy nest,
Bright dawn of our eternal day;
We saw thine eyes break from the east,
And chase the trembling shades away:
We saw thee (and we blest the sight)
We saw thee by thine own sweet light.
Tityrus.
I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow
Come hovering o’er the place’s head,
Offring their whitest sheets of snow,
To furnish the fair infant’s bed.
Forbear (said I) be not too bold,
Your fleect is white, but ’tis too cold.
Thyrsis.
I saw th’officious angels bring,
The down that their soft breasts did strow,
For well they now can spare their wings,
When Heaven itself lies here below.
Fair youth (said I) be not too rough,
Thy down though soft’s not soft enough.
Tityrus.
The babe no sooner ‘gan to seek
Where to lay his lovely head,
But straight his eyes advis’d his cheek,
‘Twixt mother’s breasts to go to bed.
Sweet choice (said I) no way but so,
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.
Chorus.
Welcome to our wond’ring sight
Eternity shut in a span!
Summer in winter! Day in night!
Heaven in Earth! and God in Man!
Great little one, whose glorious birth,
Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops heaven to earth.
Welcome, though not to gold, nor silk,
To more than Cæsar’s birthright is,
Two sister-seas of virgin’s milk,
WIth many a rarely-temper’d kiss,
That breathes at once both maid and mother,
Warms in the one, cools in the other.
She sings thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in thy weeping eye,
She spreads the red leaves of thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lie.
She ‘gainst those mother diamonds tries
The points of her young eagle’s eyes.
Welcome, (though not to those gay flies
Guilded i’th’ beams of earthly kings
Slippery souls in smiling eyes)
But to poor Shepherds, simple things,
That use no varnish, no oil’d arts,
But lift clean hands full of clear hearts.
Yet when young April’s husband showers
Shall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed,
We’ll bring the first-born of her flowers,
To kiss thy feet, and crown thy head.
To thee (dread lamb) whose love must keep
The shepherds, while they feed their sheep.
To seek Majesty, soft king
Of simple graces, and sweet loves,
Each of us his lamb will bring,
Each his pair of silver doves.
At last, in fire of thy fair eyes,
We’ll burn, our own best sacrifice.
