Classic Poem

My Carroll sung upon Christmas Day — 1637

When we a Gemm or pretious ston have lost
Is not the fabrick or the frame
Of fancy busied? and each thing tost
And turnd within the roome
Till we the same
Can find again, is't not a Martirdom?

Doth vanety affect us soe: yet are
We slumber-charmd, nor can employ
A thought that backward might reduce soe far
Lively to represent
Our misery
Who fell, and thus incurr'd a Bannishment?

Shall we leav any corner reason lends
To guive sence light unsaught, untride?
To find how farr our liberty extends
And how refound we were
Re-edifide
By th'Shepard and by th'Sonn o'th'Carpenter

May not this skill and love in him requier
The white and better ston to mark
And raise this time above all others higher
Wherin He came, (though light)
Into the dark
For to restore unto Man-kind its sight?

Most sure it will: and wher neglect denies
To be observant of this day
It proves not only forfaiture of eyes
But all parts seem a-sleep
Or gon a-stray
So's th'house again unbuilt and lost the sheep.