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O Than the fairest day, thrice fairer night,
Night to best Daies, in which a Sun doth rise,
Of which the golden Eye which cleares the Skies,
Is but a sparkling Ray, a Shadow light;
And blessed ye (in silly Pastors sight)
Mild Creatures in whose warme Crib now lies,
That Heaven-sent Youngling, holy-Maid-born Wight,
'Midst, end, beginning of our Prophesies:
Blest Cottage that hath Flow'rs in Winter spread,
Though withered blessed Grasse, that hath the grace
To deck and be a Carpet to that Place.

Thus singing to the sounds of oaten Reed
Before the Babe, the Shepheards bow'd their knees,
And Springs ran Nectar, Honey dropt from Trees.