Classic Poem

Chorus
Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight
Hath met Love's noon in Nature's night;
Come, we lift up our loftier song
And wake the sun that lies too long.

To all our world of well-stol'n joy
He slept, and dreamt of no such thing;
While we found our Heaven's fairer eye
And kissed the cradle of our King.
Tell him he rises now, too late
To show us aught worth looking at.

Tell him we now can show him more
Than he e'er showed to mortal sight;
Than he himself e'er saw before;
Which to be seen needs not his light.
Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been
Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.
Tityrus

Gloomy night embraced the place
Where the noble Infant lay.
The Babe looked up and showed His face;
In spite of darkness it was day.
It was Thy day, Sweet! and did rise
Not from the east, but from Thine eyes.
Chorus

It was Thy day, Sweet . . .
Thyrsis

Winter child aloud; and sent
The angry North to wage his wars.
The North forgot his fierce intent;
And left perfumes instead of scars.
By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers,
Where he meant frost he scattered flowers.
Chorus

By those sweet eyes . . .
Both

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Young Dawn of our Eternal Day!
We saw Thine eyes break from the East
And chase the trembling shades away.
We saw Thee and we blest the sight,
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.
Tityrus

Poor World, said I, what wilt thou do
To entertain this starry Stranger?
Is this the best thou canst bestow?
A cold, and not too cleanly, manger?
Contend, the powers of heaven and earth,
To fit a bed for this huge birth!
Chorus

Contend the powers . . .
Thyrsis

Proud World, said I; cease your contest
And let the mighty Babe alone;
The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest,
Love's architecture is his own;
The Babe whose birth embraves this morn
Made His own bed ere He was born.
Chorus

The Babe whose . . .
Tityrus

I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow,
Come hovering o'er the place's head;
Offering their whitest sheets of snow
To furnish the fair Infant's bed.
Forbear, said I; be not too bold;
Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold.
Chorus

Forbear, said I . . .
Thyrsis

I saw the obsequious seraphim
Their rosy fleece of fire bestow,
For well they now can spare their wings
Since Heaven itself lies here below.
Well done, said I; but are you sure
Your down so warm, will pass for pure?
Chorus

Well done, said I . . .
Tityrus

No, no, your King's not yet to seek
Where to repose His royal head;
See, see how soon His new-bloomed cheek
'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed!
Sweet choice, said we! no way but so
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.
Chorus

Sweet choice, said we . . .
Both

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Bright Dawn of our Eternal Day!
We saw Thine eyes break from their east
And chase the trembling shades away.
We saw Thee, and we blest the sight,
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.
Chorus

We saw Thee . . .
Full Chorus

Welcome, all wonders in one night!
Eternity shut in a span,
Summer in winter, day in night,
Heaven in earth, and God in man.
Great Little One! Whose all-embracing birth
Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.

Welcome--though nor 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, cools on the other.

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

Yet, when young April's husband show'rs
Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed,
We'll bring the first-born of her flow'rs
To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head.
To Thee, dread Lamb! Whose love must keep
The shepherds, more than they the 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 the fire of Thy fair eyes,
Ourselves become our own best sacrifice!