NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP. Behold a silly, tender Babe, In homely manger trembling lies; The inns are full, no man will yield But forced He is with silly beasts Despise Him not for lying there, Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, Nor beast that by Him feed ; Weigh not His mother's poor attire, Nor Joseph's simple weed. This stable is a prince's court, New Prince, New Pomp. 63 The persons in that poor attire His royal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from heaven, This pomp is praised there. With joy approach, O Christian wight! And highly praise this humble pomp Robert Southwell. OF THE EPIPHANY. Fair eastern star, that art ordained to run Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud. Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud: Displays her windows and adorns her bowers; Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire, Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled, Of the Epiphany. Yet Saba's lords before this babe unfold 65 Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh, and gold. The crib becomes an altar; therefore dies No ox nor sheep; for in their fodder lies The Prince of Peace, who, thankful for His bed, Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed: The quintessence of earth He takes, and fees, No storm shall cross, nor glittering lights deface Sir John Beaumont. IV.-e 6* A HYMN FOR THE EPIPHANY. SUNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS. 1 King. Bright Babe! whose awful beauties make The morn incur a sweet mistake; 2 King. For whom the officious heavens devise To disinherit the sun's rise; 3 King. Delicately to displace The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face; O Thou born King of loves! 1 King. Chorus. Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see! For love of Thee, Thus far from home The East is come To seek herself in Thy sweet eyes. 1 King. We who strangely went astray, 2 King. 3 King. Lost in a bright Meridian night; A darkness made of too much day; By Thy fair star, Lo, at last have found our way. |