Æternall worlds upon it's wings.
Meet it with wide-spread armes; & see
It's seat your soul's just center be.
Disband dull feares; give faith the day.
To save your life, kill your delay.
It is love's seege; and sure to be
Your triumph, though his victory.
'Tis cowardise that keeps this feild
And want of courage not to yeild.
Yeild then, ô yeild, that love may win
The Fort at last, and let life in.
Yeild quickly. Lest perhaps you prove
Death's prey, before the prize of love.
This Fort of your fair selfe, if't be not won,
He is repulst indeed; But you'are vndone.

Richard Crashaw.

Chorus.

Hymn of the Nativity.

Sung as by the Shepheards.

Ome we shepheards whose blest Sight

Com

Hath mett love's Noon in Nature's
Come lift we up our loftyer Song
And wake the SUN that lyes too long.

4

To all our world of well-stoln joy
He slept; and dream't of no such thing;

While we found out Heavn's fairer eye
And Kis't the Cradle of our KING.

Tell him He rises now too late
To show us ought worth looking at.

night;

Tell him we now can show Him more Then He e're show'd to mortall Sight; Then he Himselfe e're saw before; Which to be seen needes not His light. Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been, Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

Tityrus. Gloomy night embrac't the Place Where The Noble Infant lay.

The BABE look't up & shew'd his Face; In spite of Darknes, it was DAY.

It was THY day, SWEET! & did rise Not from the EAST, but from thine EYES.

Chorus. It was THY day, Sweet, &c.

Thyrs. WINTER chidde aloud; & sent
The angry North to wage his warres.
The North forgott his feirce Intent;
And left perfumes in stead of scarres.

By those sweet eyes persuasive powrs
Where he mean't frost, he scatter'd flowrs.

Chorus. By those sweet eyes, &c.

Both. We saw thee in thy baulmy Nest,
Young dawn of our æternall DAY!

We saw thine eyes break from their EASTE
And chase the trembling shades away.
We saw thee; & we blest the sight,
We saw thee by thine own sweet light.

20

30

Tity. Poor WORLD (said I) what wilt thou doe To entertain this starry STRANGER?

Is this the best thou canst bestow? A cold, and not too cleanly, manger? Contend ye powres of heav'n & earth To fitt à bed for this huge birthe.

Thyr. Proud world, said I; cease your contest, And let the MIGHTY BABE alone.

The Phænix builds the Phænix' nest.

Lov's architecture is his own.

The BABE whose birth embraves this morn,

Made his own bed e're he was born.

Tit. I saw the curl'd drops, soft & slow, Come hovering o're 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 fleece is white, But t'is too cold.

40

50

Thyr. I saw the obsequious SERAPHINS Their rosy fleece of fire bestow,

For well they now can spare their wings,

Since HEAVN it self lyes here below.

Well done, said I: but are you sure

Your down so warm,

Cho.

will passe for

pure?

Well done sayd I, &c.

бо

70

Tit. No no, your KING'S not yet to seeke
Where to repose his Royall HEAD,

See see, how soon his new-bloom'd CHEEK
Twixt's mother's brests is gone to bed.

Sweet choise, said we! no way

Not to ly cold, yet sleep in snow.

but so

Cho. Sweet choise, said we, &c.

Both. We saw thee in thy baulmy nest,
Bright dawn of our æternall Day!

We
saw thine eyes break from thir EAST
And chase the trembling shades away.
We saw thee & we blest the sight.
We saw thee, by thine own sweet light.

Full Chorus.

Cho. We saw thee, &c.

Wellcome, all WONDERS in one sight!

Eternity shutt in a span.

Sommer in Winter. Day in Night.
Heaven in earth, & GOD in MAN.

Great little one! whose all-embracing birth
Lifts earth to heaven, stoopes heav'n to earth.

WELLCOME. Though nor to gold nor silk.
To more then Cæsar's birth right is;
Two sister-seas of Virgin-Milk,

With many a rarely-temper'd kisse

That breathes at once both MAID & MOTHER,
Warmes in the one, cooles in the other.

WELLCOME, though not to those gay flyes
Guilded ith' Beames of earthly kings;
Slippery soules in smiling eyes;

But to poor Shepherds, home-spun things:
Whose Wealth's their flock; whose witt, to be
Well read in their simplicity.

Yet when young April's husband showrs
Shall blesse the fruitfull Maia's bed,

We'l bring the First-born of her flowrs

To kisse thy FEET & crown thy HEAD.

100

To thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep

The shepheards, more then they the sheep.

TO THEE, meek Majesty! soft King
Of simple GRACES & Sweet LOVES.
Each of us his lamb will bring

Each his pair of sylver Doves;

Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes,

Our selves become our own best SACRIFICE.

Richard Crashaw.

Hymn in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.

Adoro te.

W Ith all the powres my poor Heart hath

Of humble love & loyall Faith,

Thus lowe (my hidden life!) I bow to thee
Whom too much love hath bow'd more low for me.

Down down, proud sense! Discourses dy!

Keep close, my soul's inquiring ey!

Nor touch nor tast must look for more

But each sitt still in his own Dore.