I | |
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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 | |
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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? | |
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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. | |
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THE HYMN | 30 |
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I | |
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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. | |
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II | |
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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. | |
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III | |
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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. | |
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IV | |
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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. | |
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V | |
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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 |
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VI | |
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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. | |
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VII | |
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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. | |
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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; | |
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IX | |
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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. | |
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X | |
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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 | |
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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. | |
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XII | |
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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. | |
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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. | |
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XIV | |
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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. | |
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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 |
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XVI | |
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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, | |
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XVII | |
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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. | |
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XVIII | |
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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. | |
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XIX | |
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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. | |
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XX | |
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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 |
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XXI | |
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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. | |
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XXII | |
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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. | |
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XXIII | |
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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. | |
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XXIV | |
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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. | |
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XXV | |
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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 |
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XXVI | |
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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. | |
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XXVII | |
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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. | |