Thou Mother of the Prince of peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate!

That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate?

Sweet music's loudest note, the poet's story,-- Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

And is not war a youthful king, A stately hero clad in mail?

Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; Him earth's majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.

"Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state!

I am a woman poor and mean, And therefore is my soul elate; War is a ruffian all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child.

"A murderous fiend by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills and from her board Steals all his widow's toil had won; Plunders G.o.d's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

"Then wisely is my soul elate That strife should vanish, battle cease; I'm poor and of a low estate, The Mother of the Prince of peace, Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of peace is born!"

_Samuel Taylor Coleridge._

HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS-DAY.

(BEING A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THREE SHEPHERDS.)

Where is this blessed Babe That hath made All the world so full of joy And expectation; That glorious boy That crowns each nation With a triumphant wreath of blessedness?

Where should he be but in the throng, And among His angel ministers, that sing And take wing Just as may echo to his voice, And rejoice, When wing and tongue and all May so procure their happiness?

But he hath other waiters now: A poor cow, An ox and mule, stand and behold, And wonder That a stable should enfold Him that can thunder.

O what a gracious G.o.d have we, How good! how great! even as our misery.

_Jeremy Taylor._

A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY.

(SUNG AS BY THE SHEPHERDS.)

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.

To all our world of well-stol'n joy, He slept and dreamt of no such thing, While we found out heaven's fairer eye And kist the cradle of our King; Tell him he rises now too late To show us aught worth looking at.

Tell him we now can show him more Then e'er he showed to mortal sight, Than he himself e'er saw before, Which to be seen needs not his light.

Tell him, t.i.tyrus, where th' hast been, Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

_t.i.tyrus._

Gloomy night embraced the place Where the n.o.ble Infant lay, The Babe looked up and showed his face; In spite of darkness it was day: It was thy day, Sweet, and did rise Not from the East, but from thine eyes.

CHORUS.--It was thy day, Sweet, etc.

_Thyrsis._

Winter chid aloud and sent The angry North to wage his wars; The North forgot his fierce intent, And left perfumes instead of scars; By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, Where he meant frost he scattered flowers.

CHORUS.--By those sweet eyes, etc.

_Both._

We saw thee in thy balmy nest, 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 blest the sight, We saw thee by thine own sweet light.

_t.i.tyrus._

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, To fit a bed for this huge birth.

CHORUS.--Contend, ye powers, etc.

_Thyrsis._

Proud world (said I), cease your contest, And let the mighty Babe alone; The Phoenix builds the Phoenix nest, Love's architecture is all one.

The Babe whose birth embraves this morn Made his own bed ere he was born.

CHORUS.--The Babe whose birth, etc.

_t.i.tyrus._

I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, Come hovering o'er the place's head, Offering 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.

CHORUS.--Forbear (said I), etc.

_Thyrsis._

I saw the obsequious seraphins 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 pa.s.s for pure.

CHORUS.--Well done (said I), etc.

_t.i.tyrus._

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's mother's b.r.e.a.s.t.s is gone to bed: Sweet choice (said I), no way but so, Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.

CHORUS.--Sweet choice (said I), etc.

_Both._

We saw thee in thy balmy nest, 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 blest the sight, We saw thee by thine own sweet light.

CHORUS.--We saw thee, etc.

_Full Chorus._