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 wooes the gentle air,

To hide her guilty front, with innocent snow; And, on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But he, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace;

She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down, through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,

With turtle wing, the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand

She strikes an universal peace, through sea & land.

No war, or battle's sound,

Was heard, the world around:

The idle spear & shield were high up hung,

The hooked chariot stood,

Unstain'd with hostile blood,

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;

And kings sat still, with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovereign 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 kiss'd,

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean; 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.

And though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame,

As his inferior flame

The new-enlighten'd world no more should need; He saw a greater sun appear

[bear.

Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could

The shepherds, on the lawn,

Or e'er the point of dawn,

Sat simply chatting, in a rustic row;

Full little thought they than

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly come to live with them below;

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

When such music sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet,

As never was by mortal finger strook;

Divinely warbled voice

Answering the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took :

The air, such pleasure loth to lose,

[close.

With thousand echoes, still prolongs each heavenly

Nature, that heard such sound,

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling, Now was almost won,

To think her part was done,

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony, alone,

Could hold all Heaven & earth in happier union.

At last surrounds their sight

That with long beams the shamefac'd night

A globe of circular light,

The helmed cherubim,

And sworded seraphim,

[array'd;

[play'd,

[Heir.

Are seen in glittering ranks, with wings disHarping, in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born

Such music, as 'tis said,

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung; While the Creator great

His constellations set,

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, [keep. And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,

Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time,

And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow;

And, with your ninefold harmony,

Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.

For if such holy song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell itself will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

Yea, Truth and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Orb'd in a rainbow; &, like glories wearing, Mercy, will sit between,

Throned in celestial sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down And Heaven, as at some festival, [steering: Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

But wisest Fate says no,
This must not yet be so,

The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, That, on the bitter cross,

Must redeem our loss;

So both himself and us to glorify; Yet first to those 'ychain'd in sleep

[the deep,

The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through

With such a horrid clang,

As on mount Sinai rang,

While the red fire and smouldring clouds out

[brake:

Shall from the surface to the centre shake;

When, at the world's last session,

[throne.

The dreadful Judge, in middle air, shall spread his

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for, from this happy day,

The old dragon, under ground,

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway;

And wroth to see his kingdom fail,

Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

The oracles are dumb,

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo, from his shrine,

Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspires the pale-ey'd priest, from the prophetic cell.

The lonely mountains o'er,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;

From haunted spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale,

The parting genius is with sighing sent;

With flower-inwoven tresses torn,

[mourn.

The nymphs, in twilight shade of tangled thickets

In consecrated earth,

And on the holy hearth,

The Lars, and Lemures moan, with midnight

In urns, and altars round,

A drear and dying sound

[plaint;

Affrights the Flamens, at their service quaint: And the chill marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat

Peor and Baälim

Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth,

Heaven's queen and mother both,

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

[mourn.

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz

And sullen Moloch, fled

Hath left, in shadows dread

His burning idol, all of blackest hue

In vain with cymbals' ring

They call the grisly king,

In dismal dance about the furnace blue :

The brutish Gods of Nile as fast,

Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest,

[loud;

Nought but profoundest He'] can be his shroud;

In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark,

The sable-stol'd sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.

He feels, from Juda's land,

The dreaded Infant's hand,

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside,

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine:

Our Babe, to show his godhead true,

[crew.

Can in his swaddling bands control the damned

So when the sun in bed,

Curtain'd with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale

Troop to the infernal jail,

Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave,

[maze.

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved

And the yellow-skirted Fayes