ODES. ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. II. That glorious form, that light unsufferable, Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table He laid aside; and, here with us to be, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. III. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, IV. See, how from far, upon the eastern road, And join thy voice unto the Angel-quire, From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. THE HYMN. Ir was the winter wild, I. 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 II. 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. |