Classic Poem

When Death and Hell their right in Herode clayme,
Christ from exile returnes to natyve soyle,
There with His life more deepely Death to mayme,
Then Death did life by all the infantes spoyle.
He shewd the parentes that their babes did mone,
That all their lives were lesse then His alone.

But hearing Herod's sonne to have the crowne;
An impious offspring of a bloodye syre;
To Nazareth (of heaven beloved) towne,
Flower to a floure, He fittly doth retyre;
For floure He is and in a floure He bredd,
And from a thorne nowe to a floure He fledd.

And well deservd this floure His fruite to vew,
Where He invested was in mortall weede;
Where first unto a tender budd He grewe,
In virgin branch unstaynd with mortall scede:
Yonge floure, with floures in floure well may He be,
Ripe fruite, He must with thornes hange on a tree.