Welcome, all wonder in one sight, Eternity shut in a span, Summer in winter, day in night, Heaven in earth and G.o.d in man!

Great little One! whose all-embracing birth Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.

Welcome, though not to gold nor silk, To more than Caesar's birthright is, Two Sister Seas of Virgin milk With many a rarely-tempered kiss, That breathes at once both Maid and Mother, Warms in the one and cools in the other.

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: She 'gainst those mother-diamonds tries The points of her young eagle's eyes.

Welcome, though not to those gay flies Gilded i' the beams of earthly kings, Slippery souls in smiling eyes, But to poor shepherds' homespun things; Whose wealth's their flock, whose wit to be Well read in their simplicity.

Yet when young April's husband-showers Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed, 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 more than they their sheep.

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, Till burnt at last in fire of thy fair eyes Ourselves become our own best sacrifice.

_Richard Crashaw._

SUNG BY THE SHEPHERD.

The New Year is begun, Good-morrow, my masters all!

The cheerful rising sun Now shining in this hall, Brings mirth and joy To man and boy.

With all that here doth dwell; Whom Jesus bless With love's increase, So all things shall prosper well.

A New-Year's gift I bring Unto my master here, Which is a welcome thing Of mirth and merry cheer.

A New-Year's lamb Come from thy dam An hour before daybreak, Your noted ewe Doth this bestow, Good master, for your sake.

And to my dame so kind This New-Year's gift I bring; I'll bear an honest mind Unto her whilst I live.

Your white-woolled sheep I'll safely keep From harm of bush or brere, That garments gay For your array May clothe you the next New Year.

And to your children all, These New-Year's gifts I bring; And though the price be small, They're fit for queen or king: Fair pippins red Kept in my bed A-mellowing since last year, Whose beauty bright So clear of sight Their hearts will glad and cheer.

And to your maids and men I bring both points and pins; Come bid me welcome then, The good New Year begins: And for my love Let me approve The friendship of your Maid, Whose nappy ale, So good and stale, Will make my wits afraid.

I dare not with it deal But in a sober diet: If I, poor shepherd, steal A draught to be unquiet, And lose my way This New-Year's day As I go to my fold, You'll surely think My love of drink This following year will hold.

Here stands my bottle and hook, Good kitchen-maid, draw near, Thou art an honest cook, And canst brew ale and beer; Thy office show, Before I go, My bottle and bag come fill, And for thy sake I'll merry make Upon the next green hill.

_New Christmas Carols._

FROM "THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD."

AT BETHLEHEM.

So many hills arising, green and gray, On Earth's large round, and that one hill to say: "I was his bearing-place!" On Earth's wide breast So many maids! and she--of all most blest-- Heavily mounting Bethlehem, to be His Mother!--Holy Maid of Galilee!

Hill, with the olives, and the little town!

If rivers from their crystal founts flow down, If 'twas the dawn which did day's gold unbar, Ye were beginnings of the best we are, The most we see, the highest that we know, The lifting heavenward of man's life below.

Therefore, though better lips ye shall not lack, Suffer if one of modern mood steals back-- Weary and wayworn from the desert-road Of barren thought; from Hope's Dead Sea, which glowed With Love's fair mirage; from the poet's haunt, The scholar's lamp, the statesman's scheme, the vaunt, The failure, of all fond philosophies,-- Back unto Thee, back to thy olive-trees, Thy people, and thy story, and thy Son, Mary of Nazareth! So long agone Bearing us Him who made our christendom, And came to save the earth, from heav'n, His home.

So many hill-sides, crowned with rugged rocks!

So many simple shepherds keeping flocks In many moonlit fields! but, only they-- So lone, so long ago, so far away-- On that one winter's night, at Bethlehem, To have white angels singing lauds for them!

They only--hinds wrapped in the he-goat's skin-- To hear heaven's music, bidding peace begin!

Only for those, of countless watching eyes, The "Glory of the Lord" glad to arise; The skies to blaze with gold and silver light Of seraphs by strong joy flashed into sight; The wind, for them, with that strange song to swell,-- By too much happiness incredible-- That tender anthem of good times to be, Then at their dawn--not daylight yet, ah me!

"Peace upon earth! Good-will!" sung to the strings Of lutes celestial. Nay, if these things Too blessed to believe have seemed, or seem, Not ours the fault, dear angels! Prove the dream Waking and true! sing once again, and make Moonlight and starlight sweet for earth's sad sake!

Or, if heaven bids ye lock in silence still Conquest of peace, and coming of good-will, Till times to be, then--oh, you placid sheep!

Ah, thrice-blest shepherds! suffer if we creep Back through the tangled thicket of the years To graze in your fair flock, to strain our ears With listening herdsmen, if, perchance, one note Of such high singing in the fine air float; If any rock thrills yet with that great strain We did not hear, and shall not hear, again; If any olive-leaf at Bethlehem Lisps still one syllable vouchsafed to them; If some stream, conscious still--some breeze--be stirred With echo of th' immortal words ye heard.

What was it that ye heard? the wind of night Playing in cheating tones, with touches light, Amid the palm-plumes? or, one stop outblown Of planetary music, so far flown Earthwards, that to those innocent ears 'twas brought Which bent the mighty measure to their thought?

Or, haply, from breast-shaped Beth-Haccarem, The hill of Herod, some waft sent to them Of storming drums and trumps, at festival Held in the Idumaean's purple hall?

Or, it may be, some Aramaic song Of country lovers, after partings long Meeting anew, with much "good will" indeed, Blown by some swain upon his Jordan reed?

Nay, nay! your abbas back ye did not fling, From each astonished ear, for swains to sing Their village-verses clear; for sounds well-known Of wandering breeze, or whispering trees, or tone Of Herod's trumpets. And ye did not gaze Heart-startled on the stars (albeit the rays Of that lone orb shot, sparkling, from the east Unseen before), for these, largest and least, Were fold-lamps, lighted nightly: and ye knew Far differing glory in the night's dark blue Suddenly lit with rose, and pierced with spike Of golden spear-beam. Oh, a dream, belike!

Some far-fetched vision, new to peasant's sleep, Of paradise stripped bare!--But, why thus keep Secrets for them? This bar, which doth enclose Better and n.o.bler souls, why burst for those Who supped on the parched pulse, and lapped the stream, And each, at the same hour, dreams the same dream!

Or, easier still, they lied! Yet, wherefore, then "Rise, and go up to Bethlehem," and unpen To wolf and jackal all their hapless fold So they might "see these things which had been told In heaven's own voice"? And heaven, whate'er betide, Spreads surely somewhere, on death's farther side!

And, truly, if joy's music once hath rung Prom lips of bands invisible, if any-- (Be they the dead, or of the deathless many)-- Love and serve man, angelical befrienders, Glad of his weal, and from his woe defenders,-- If such, in heaven, have pity on our tears, Forever falling with the unmending years, High cause had they, at Bethlehem, that night, To lift the curtain of hope's hidden light, To break decree of silence with love's cry, Foreseeing how this Babe, born lowlily, Should--past dispute, since now achieved is this-- Bring earth great gifts of blessing and of bliss; Date, from that crib, the dynasty of love; Strip his misused thunderbolts from Jove; Bend to their knee Rome's Caesars, break the chain From the slave's neck; set sick hearts free again Bitterly bound by priests, and scribes, and scrolls; And heal, with balm of pardon, sinking souls: Should mercy to her vacant throne restore, Teach right to kings, and patience to the poor; Should, from that bearing-cave, outside the khan, Amid the kneeling cattle, rise, and be Light of all lands, and splendor of each sea, The sun-burst of a new morn come to earth, Not yet, alas! broad day, but day's white birth Which promiseth; and blesseth, promising.

These from that night! What cause of wondering If that one silence of all silences Brake into music? if, for hopes like these Angels, who love us, sang that song, and show Of time's far purpose made the "great light" glow?

Wherefore, let whosoever will drink dry His cup of faith; and think that, verily, Not in a vision, no way otherwise Than those poor shepherds told, there did arise This portent. Being amidst their sheep and goats, Lapped careless in their pasture-keeping coats, Blind as their drowsy beasts to what drew nigh, (Such the lulled ear, and such th' unbusied eye Which ofttimes hears and sees hid things!) there spread The "Glory of the Lord" around each head: Broke, be it deemed, o'er hill and over hollow, On the inner seeing, the sense concealed, unknown, Of those plain hinds--glad, humble, and alone-- Flooding their minds, filling their hearts; around, Above, below, disclosing grove and ground, The rocks, the hill, the town, the solitude, The wondering flocks,--agaze with gra.s.s half-chewed,-- The palm-crowns, and the path to Bethlehem, As sight angelic spies. And, came to them The "Angel of the Lord," visible, sure, Known for the angel by his presence pure Whereon was written love, and peace, and grace, With beauty pa.s.sing mortal mien and face.

So when the Angels were no more to see, Re-entering those gates of s.p.a.ce,--whose key Love keeps on that side, and on this side death-- Each shepherd to the other whispering saith, Lest he should miss some lingering symphonies Of that departing music, "Let us rise And go even now to Bethlehem, and spy This which is come to pa.s.s, shewed graciously By the Lord's angels." Therewith hasted they By olive-yards, and old walls mossed and gray Where, in close c.h.i.n.ks, the lizard and the snake, Thinking the sunlight come, stirred, half-awake: Across the terraced levels of the vines, Under the pillared palms, along the lines Of lance-leaved oleanders, scented sweet, Through the pomegranate-gardens sped their feet; Over the causeway, up the slope, they spring, Breast the steep path, with steps not slackening; Past David's well, past the town-wall they ran, Unto the House of Chimham, to the khan, Where mark them peering in, the posts between, Questioning--all out of breath--if birth hath been This night, in any guest-room, high or low?

The drowsy porter at the gate saith, "No!"-- Shooting the bars; while the packed camels shake Their bells to listen, and the sleepers wake, And to their feet the ponderous steers slow rise, Lifting from trampled fodder large mild eyes;-- "Nay! Brothers! no such thing! yet there is gone Yonder, one nigh her time, a gentle one!

With him that seemed her spouse--of Galilee; They toiled at sundown to our doors--but, see!

No nook was here! Seek at the cave instead; We shook some barley-straw to make their bed."

Then to the cave they wended, and there spied That which was more, if truth be testified, Than all the pomp seen thro' proud Herod's porch Ablaze with bra.s.s, and silk, and scented torch, High on Beth-Haccarem; more to behold, If men had known, than all the glory told Of splendid Caesar in his marbled home On the white Isle; or audience-hall at Rome With trembling princes thronged. A clay lamp swings By twisted camel-cords, from blackened rings, Shewing with flickering gleams, a Child new-born Wrapped in a cloth, laid where the beasts at morn Will champ their bean-straw: in the lamp-ray dim A fresh-made Mother by Him, fostering Him With face and mien to worship, speaking naught; Close at hand Joseph, and the a.s.s, hath brought That precious twofold burden to the gate; With goats, sheep, oxen, driven to shelter late: No mightier sight! Yet all sufficeth it-- If we will deem things be beyond our wit-- To prove heaven's music true, and show heaven's way, How, not by famous kings, nor with array Of brazen letters on the boastful stone, But "by the mouth of babes," quiet, alone, Little beginnings planning for large ends, With other purpose than fond man attends, Wisdom and love, in secret fellowship Guide our world's wandering with a finger-tip; And how, that night, as these did darkly see, They sealed the first scrolls of earth's history, And opened what shall run till death be dead.

Which babe they reverenced, bending low the head, First of all worshippers; and told the things Done in the plain, and played on angel's strings.

Then those around wondered and worshipped, too, And Mary heard--but wondered not--anew Hiding this in her heart, the heart which beat With blood of Jesus Christ, holy and sweet.

Also, not marvelling, albeit they heard, Stood certain by--those three swart ones--appeared From climes unknown; yet, surely, on high quest Of what that star proclaimed, bright on the breast First of the Ram, afterwards glittering thence Into the watery Trigon, where, intense, It lit the Crab, and burned the Fishes pale.

Three Signiors, owning many a costly bale; Three travelled masters, by their bearing lords Of lands and slaves. The Indian silk affords, With many a folded braid of white and gold, Shade to their brows; rich goat-hair shawls did fold Their gowns of flow'r'd white muslin, midway tied; And ruby, turkis, emerald--stones of pride-- Blazed on their thumb-rings; and a pearl gleamed white In every ear; and silver belts, clasped tight, Held ink-box, reeds, and knives, in scabbards gemmed; Curled shoes of goat-skin dyed, with seed-pearls hemmed, Shod their brown feet; hair shorn; lids low, to think-- Eyes deep and wistful, as of those who drink Waters of hidden wisdom, night and day, And live twain lives, conforming as they may, In diligence, and due observances To ways of men; yet, not at one with these; But ever straining past the things that seem To that which is--the truth behind the dream.

Three princely wanderers of the Asian blood Perchance, by Indus dwellers; or some flood, That feeds her from Himala's icy dome; Or, haply, to those Syrian palm-trees come From Gunga's banks, or mounts of Malabar Which lift the Deccan to its sun, and far-- Rampart-like--fringe the blue Arabian Sea.

True followers of the Buddh they seemed to be, The better arm and shoulder showing bare With each; and on the neck of each, draped fair A scarf of saffron, patched; and, 'twixt the eyes, In saffron stamped, the Name of mysteries OM; and the Swastika, with secrets rife How man may 'scape the dire deceits of life.

These three stood by, as who would entrance make; And heard the shepherd's tale; and, hearing, spake Strange Indian words one to another; then sent Command. Their serving-men, obedient, Cast loose from off the camels, kneeling nigh, Nettings and mats, and made the fastenings fly From belly-band, and crupper-rope, and tail; And broke the knots, and let each dusty bale Slide from the saddle-horns, and give to see Long-h.o.a.rded treasure of great jewelry, And fragrant secrets of the Indian grove, And splendors of the Indian looms, inwove With gold and silver flowers: "for, now," said they, "Our eyes have seen this thing sought day by day; By the all-conscious, silent sky well-known, And, specially, of yon white star fore-shown Which, bursting magically on the sight, Beckoned us from our homes, shining aright, The silver beacon to this holy hill: Mark if it sparkles not, aware and still, Over the place: The astral houses, see!

Spake truth: Our feet were guided faithfully.

'Tis the Star-Child, who was to rise, and wear A crown than Suleiman's more royal and rare, 'King of the Jews!' Grant an approach to us Who crave to worship Him."

Now, it fell thus That these first to Jerusalem had pa.s.sed, And sojourned there, observing feast and fast In the thronged city; oft of townsmen seen In market and bazaar; and, by their mien Noted for lordliest of all strangers there, Much whispered of, in sooth, as who saw clear Shadows of times to come, and secrets bright Writ in the jewelled cipher of the night.

So that the voice of this to Herod went Feastful and fearful; ever ill-content Mid plots and perils; girt with singing boys, And dancing girls of Tyre, and armored noise Of Caesar's legionaries. Long and near, In audience hall, each dusky wayfarer Questioned he of their knowledge, and the star, What message flashed it? Whether near or far Would rise this portent of a Babe to reign King of the Jews, and bring a crown again To weeping Zion, and cast forth from them The Roman scourge? And if at Bethlehem, As, with one voice, priests, elders, scribes aver, Then, let them thither wend, and spy the stir, And find this Babe, and come anew to him, Declaring where the wonder. "'Twas his whim"

Quotha "to be of fashion with the stars, (Weary, like them, of gazing upon wars) To shine upon this suckling, bending knee Save unto Caesar uncrooked latterly."

Thence came it those three stood at entering Before the door; and their rich gifts did bring, Red gold from the Indian rocks, cunningly beat To plate and chalice, with old fables sweet Of Buddh's compa.s.sion, and dark Mara's powers Round the brims glittering; and a riot of flowers Done on the gold, with gold script to proclaim The n.o.ble Truths, and Threefold mystic Name OM, and the Swastika, and how man wins Blessed Nirvana's rest, being quit of sins, And, day and night, reciting, "Oh, the Gem!

Upon the Lotus! Oh, the Lotus-stem!"

Also, more precious than much gold, they poured Rare spices forth, unknitting cord on cord; And, one by one, unwinding cloths, as though The merchantmen had sought to shut in so The breath of those distillings: in such kind As when Nile's black embalming slaves would bind Sindon o'er sindon, cere-cloth, cinglets, bands Roll after roll, on head, breast, feet, and hands, Round some dead king, whose cold and withered palm Had dropped the sceptre; drenched with musk and balm, And natron, and what keeps from perishing; So they might save--after long wandering-- The body for the spirit, and hold fast Life's likeness, till the dead man lived at last.