| WE saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, | |
| Young 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, | 5 |
| We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. | |
| |
| Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do | |
| To entertain this starry stranger? | |
| Is this the best thou canst bestow— | |
| A cold and not too cleanly manger? | 10 |
| Contend, the powers of heaven and earth, | |
| To fit a bed for this huge birth. | |
| |
| Proud world, said I, cease your contest, | |
| And let the mighty babe alone; | |
| The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest, | 15 |
| Love's architecture is His own. | |
| The babe, whose birth embraves this morn, | |
| Made His own bed ere He was born. | |
| |
| I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, | |
| Come hovering o'er the place's head, | 20 |
| Off'ring their whitest sheets of snow, | |
| To furnish the fair infant's bed. | |
| Forbear, said I, be not too bold; | |
| Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold. | |
| |
| I saw th' obsequious seraphim | 25 |
| Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, | |
| For well they now can spare their wings, | |
| Since Heaven itself lies here below. | |
| Well done, said I; but are you sure | |
| Your down, so warm, will pass for pure? | 30 |
| |
| No, no, your King 's not yet to seek | |
| Where to repose His royal head; | |
| See, see how soon His new-bloom'd cheek | |
| 'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed! | |
| Sweet choice, said we; no way but so, | 35 |
| Not to lie cold, you sleep in snow! | |
| |
| 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. | 40 |
| She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries | |
| The points of her young eagle's eyes. | |
| |
| Welcome—tho' not to those gay flies, | |
| Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings, | |
| Slippery souls in smiling eyes— | 45 |
| But to poor shepherds, homespun things, | |
| Whose wealth 's their flocks, whose wit 's to be | |
| Well read in their simplicity. | |
| |
| Yet, when young April's husband show'rs | |
| Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed, | 50 |
| 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 Thee, meek Majesty, soft King | 55 |
| 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, | |
| Ourselves become our own best sacrifice! | 60 |
