| |
| Sung by the Shepherds |
| Chorus | COME we shepherds whose blest sight | |
| Hath met love’s noon in nature’s night, | |
| Come lift we up our loftier song, | |
| And wake the sun that lies too long. | |
| |
| We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest | 5 |
| Bright dawn of our eternal day! | |
| We saw Thine eyes break from their east | |
| And chase the trembling shades away; | |
| We saw Thee, and we bless the sight, | |
| We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light! | 10 |
| |
| Tityrus. | 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? | |
| Contend ye powers of heaven and earth | 15 |
| To fit a bed for this huge birth. | |
| |
| Thyrsis. | Proud world, said I, cease your contest, | |
| And let the mighty babe alone, | |
| The phœnix builds the phœnix’ nest, | |
| Love’s architecture is His own. | 20 |
| The Babe, whose birth embraves this morn, | |
| Made His own bed ere He was born. | |
| |
| Tityrus. | I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow, | |
| Come hovering o’er the place’s head, | |
| Offering their whitest sheets of snow, | 25 |
| To furnish the fair Infant’s bed; | |
| Forbear, said I, be not too bold; | |
| Your fleece is white, but ’tis too cold. | |
| |
| Thyrsis. | I saw the obsequious seraphims | |
| Their rosy fleece of fire bestow; | 30 |
| 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? | |
| |
| Tityrus. | No, no, your King’s not yet to seek | 35 |
| 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 I, no way but so, | |
| Not to lie cold yet sleep in snow. | 40 |
| |
| Chorus | Welcome all wonders in one sight, | |
| Eternity shut in a span, | |
| Summer in winter, day in night, | |
| Heaven in earth, and God in man, | |
| Great little one, whose all-embracing birth | 45 |
| Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth. | |
| |
| To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King | |
| Of simple graces and sweet loves, | |
| Each of us his lamb will bring, | |
| Each his pair of silver doves, | 50 |
| Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes | |
| Ourselves become our own best sacrifice. | |
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