Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all Why should best minds groan under most distress? Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time When good may have, as well as bad, their prime ! W. Drummond LX THE WORLD'S WAY IRED with all these, for restful death I cry TIR As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And art made tongue-tied by authority, - Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. W. Shakespeare TH LXI SAINT JOHN BAPTIST HE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. His food was locusts, and what there doth spring There burst he forth: All ye whose hopes rely Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? Only the echoes, which he made relent, BOOK SECOND LXII ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY HIS is the month, and this the happy morn, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table He laid aside; and, here with us to be, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far, upon the eastern road, O run, prevent them with thy humble ode 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 It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding 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. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high up hung; Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the arméd throng; As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist Whispering new joys to the mild oceán Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in stedfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. |