| I | |
| |
| This is the month, and this the happy morn, | |
| Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King, | |
| Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, | |
| Our great redemption from above did bring; | |
| For so the holy sages once did sing, | 5 |
| That he our deadly forfeit should release, | |
| And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. | |
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| II | |
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| That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, | |
| And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty, | |
| Wherewith he wont at Heav'n's high council-table, | 10 |
| To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, | |
| He laid aside, and here with us to be, | |
| Forsook the courts of everlasting day, | |
| And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. | |
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| III | |
| |
| Say Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein | 15 |
| Afford a present to the Infant God? | |
| Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, | |
| To welcome him to this his new abode, | |
| Now while the heav'n, by the Sun's team untrod, | |
| Hath took no print of the approaching light, | 20 |
| And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? | |
| |
| IV | |
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| See how from far upon the eastern road | |
| The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: | |
| O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, | |
| And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; | 25 |
| Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, | |
| And join thy voice unto the angel quire, | |
| From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. | |
| | |
| THE HYMN | 30 |
| |
| I | |
| |
| It was the winter wild, | |
| While the Heav'n-born child, | |
| All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; | |
| Nature in awe to him | |
| Had doff'd her gaudy trim, | 35 |
| With her great Master so to sympathize: | |
| It was no season then for her | |
| To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour. | |
| |
| II | |
| |
| Only with speeches fair | |
| She woos the gentle air | 40 |
| To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, | |
| And on her naked shame, | |
| Pollute with sinful blame, | |
| The saintly veil of maiden white to throw, | |
| Confounded, that her Maker's eyes | 45 |
| Should look so near upon her foul deformities. | |
| |
| III | |
| |
| But he, her fears to cease, | |
| Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace: | |
| She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding | |
| Down through the turning sphere, | 50 |
| His ready harbinger, | |
| With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; | |
| And waving wide her myrtle wand, | |
| She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. | |
| |
| IV | |
| |
| No war or battle's sound | 55 |
| Was heard the world around; | |
| The idle spear and shield were high uphung; | |
| The hooked chariot stood | |
| Unstain'd with hostile blood; | |
| The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; | 60 |
| And kings sate still with awful eye, | |
| As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. | |
| |
| V | |
| |
| But peaceful was the night | |
| Wherein the Prince of Light | |
| His reign of peace upon the earth began: | 65 |
| The winds with wonder whist, | |
| Smoothly the waters kist, | |
| Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean, | |
| Who now hath quite forgot to rave, | |
| While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. | 70 |
| |
| VI | |
| |
| The Stars with deep amaze | |
| Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, | |
| Bending one way their precious influence; | |
| And will not take their flight, | |
| For all the morning light, | 75 |
| Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence, | |
| But in their glimmering orbs did glow, | |
| Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. | |
| |
| VII | |
| |
| And though the shady gloom | |
| Had given day her room, | 80 |
| The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed, | |
| And hid his head for shame, | |
| As his inferior flame | |
| The new-enlighten'd world no more should need: | |
| He saw a greater Sun appear | 85 |
| Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree could bear. | |
| |
| VIII | |
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| The shepherds on the lawn, | |
| Or ere the point of dawn, | |
| Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; | |
| Full little thought they than | 90 |
| That the mighty Pan | |
| Was kindly come to live with them below: | |
| Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, | |
| Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep; | |
| |
| IX | |
| |
| When such music sweet | 95 |
| Their hearts and ears did greet, | |
| As never was by mortal finger strook, | |
| Divinely warbled voice | |
| Answering the stringed noise, | |
| As all their souls in blissful rapture took: | 100 |
| The air such pleasure loth to lose, | |
| With thousand echoes still prolongs each heav'nly close. | |
| |
| X | |
| |
| Nature, that heard such sound | |
| Beneath the hollow round | |
| Of Cynthia's seat, the Airy region thrilling, | 105 |
| Now was almost won | |
| To think her part was done, | |
| And that her reign had here its last fulfilling: | |
| She knew such harmony alone | |
| Could hold all heav'n and earth in happier union. | 110 |
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| XI | |
| |
| At last surrounds their sight | |
| A globe of circular light, | |
| That with long beams the shame-fac'd Night array'd; | |
| The helmed Cherubim | |
| And sworded Seraphim | 115 |
| Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, | |
| Harping in loud and solemn quire, | |
| With unexpressive notes to Heav'n's new-born Heir. | |
| |
| XII | |
| |
| Such music (as 'tis said) | |
| Before was never made, | 120 |
| But when of old the sons of morning sung, | |
| While the Creator great | |
| His constellations set, | |
| And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung, | |
| And cast the dark foundations deep, | 125 |
| And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep. | |
| |
| XIII | |
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| Ring out ye crystal spheres! | |
| Once bless our human ears | |
| (If ye have power to touch our senses so) | |
| And let your silver chime | 130 |
| Move in melodious time, | |
| And let the bass of Heav'n's deep organ blow; | |
| And with your ninefold harmony | |
| Make up full consort to th'angelic symphony. | |
| |
| XIV | |
| |
| For if such holy song | 135 |
| Enwrap our fancy long, | |
| Time will run back and fetch the age of gold, | |
| And speckl'd Vanity | |
| Will sicken soon and die, | |
| And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; | 140 |
| And Hell itself will pass away, | |
| And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering Day. | |
| |
| XV | |
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| Yea, Truth and Justice then | |
| Will down return to men, | |
| Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, | 145 |
| Mercy will sit between, | |
| Thron'd in celestial sheen, | |
| With radiant feet the tissu'd clouds down steering; | |
| And Heav'n, as at some festival, | |
| Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. | 150 |
| |
| XVI | |
| |
| But wisest Fate says no: | |
| This must not yet be so; | |
| The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, | |
| That on the bitter cross | |
| Must redeem our loss, | 155 |
| So both himself and us to glorify: | |
| Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep, | |
| The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep, | |
| |
| XVII | |
| |
| With such a horrid clang | |
| As on Mount Sinai rang | 160 |
| While the red fire and smould'ring clouds outbrake: | |
| The aged Earth, aghast | |
| With terror of that blast, | |
| Shall from the surface to the centre shake, | |
| When at the world's last session, | 165 |
| The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. | |
| |
| XVIII | |
| |
| And then at last our bliss | |
| Full and perfect is, | |
| But now begins; for from this happy day | |
| Th'old Dragon under ground, | 170 |
| In straiter limits bound, | |
| Not half so far casts his usurped sway, | |
| And, wrath to see his kingdom fail, | |
| Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. | |
| |
| XIX | |
| |
| The Oracles are dumb; | 175 |
| No voice or hideous hum | |
| Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. | |
| Apollo from his shrine | |
| Can no more divine, | |
| With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. | 180 |
| No nightly trance or breathed spell | |
| Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell. | |
| |
| XX | |
| |
| The lonely mountains o'er, | |
| And the resounding shore, | |
| A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; | 185 |
| From haunted spring, and dale | |
| Edg'd with poplar pale, | |
| The parting Genius is with sighing sent; | |
| With flow'r-inwoven tresses torn | |
| The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. | 190 |
| |
| XXI | |
| |
| In consecrated earth, | |
| And on the holy hearth, | |
| The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; | |
| In urns and altars round, | |
| A drear and dying sound | 195 |
| Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; | |
| And the chill marble seems to sweat, | |
| While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. | |
| |
| XXII | |
| |
| Peor and Ba{:a}lim | |
| Forsake their temples dim, | 200 |
| With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; | |
| And mooned Ashtaroth, | |
| Heav'n's queen and mother both, | |
| Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; | |
| The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn; | 205 |
| In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. | |
| |
| XXIII | |
| |
| And sullen Moloch, fled, | |
| Hath left in shadows dread | |
| His burning idol all of blackest hue: | |
| In vain with cymbals' ring | 210 |
| They call the grisly king, | |
| In dismal dance about the furnace blue. | |
| The brutish gods of Nile as fast, | |
| Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. | |
| |
| XXIV | |
| |
| Nor is Osiris seen | 215 |
| In Memphian grove or green, | |
| Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud; | |
| Nor can he be at rest | |
| Within his sacred chest, | |
| Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud: | 220 |
| In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark | |
| The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. | |
| |
| XXV | |
| |
| He feels from Juda's land | |
| The dreaded Infant's hand, | |
| The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; | 225 |
| Nor all the gods beside | |
| Longer dare abide, | |
| Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: | |
| Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, | |
| Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. | 230 |
| |
| XXVI | |
| |
| So when the Sun in bed, | |
| Curtain'd with cloudy red, | |
| Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, | |
| The flocking shadows pale | |
| Troop to th'infernal jail, | 235 |
| Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave, | |
| And the yellow-skirted fays | |
| Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. | |
| |
| XXVII | |
| |
| But see, the Virgin blest | |
| Hath laid her Babe to rest: | 240 |
| Time is our tedious song should here have ending. | |
| Heav'n's youngest-teemed star, | |
| Hath fix'd her polish'd car, | |
| Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; | |
| And all about the courtly stable, | 245 |
| Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. | |