The Nativity
Peace?
and
to
all
the
world?
sure,
One
And
He
the
Prince
of
Peace,
hath
none.
He
travels
to
be
born,
and
then
Is
born
to
travel
more
again.
Poor
Galilee!
thou
canst
not
be
The
place
for
His
nativity.
His
restless
mother's
called
away,
And
not
delivered
till
she
pay.
A
tax?
'tis
so
still!
we
can
see
The
church
thrive
in
her
misery;
And
like
her
Head
at
Bethlem,
rise
When
she,
oppressed
with
troubles,
lies.
Rise?
should
all
fall,
we
cannot
be
In
more
extremities
than
He.
Great
Type
of
passions!
come
what
will,
Thy
grief
exceeds
all
copies
still.
Thou
cam'st
from
heaven
to
earth,
that
we
Might
go
from
earth
to
heaven
with
Thee.
And
though
Thou
foundest
no
welcome
here,
Thou
didst
provide
us
mansions
there.
A
stable
was
Thy
court,
and
when
Men
turned
to
beasts,
beasts
would
be
men.
They
were
Thy
courtiers,
others
none;
And
their
poor
manger
was
Thy
throne.
No
swaddling
silks
Thy
limbs
did
fold,
Though
Thou
couldst
turn
Thy
rays
to
gold.
No
rockers
waited
on
Thy
birth,
No
cradles
stirred,
nor
songs
of
mirth;
But
her
chaste
lap
and
sacred
breast
Which
lodged
Thee
first
did
give
Thee
rest.
But
stay:
what
light
is
that
doth
stream,
And
drop
here
in
a
gilded
beam?
It
is
Thy
star
runs
page,
and
brings
Thy
tributary
Eastern
kings.
Lord!
grant
some
light
to
us,
that
we
May
with
them
find
the
way
to
Thee.
Behold
what
mists
eclipse
the
day:
How
dark
it
is!
shed
down
one
ray
To
guide
us
out
of
this
sad
night,
And
say
once
more,
"Let
there
be
light."
