On Christmas-Day

Come, oh come! let us rejoice and wonder,
When the King of Kings lays by his thunder,
And will in gentle language have it said,
His only Son was in a Manger laid,
To shew the poor, the humble and the proud,
More glory in that lowness, than a crowd
Of Princes, with their trains did ever bring
To celebrate the birth of earthly King.
Thus homely born! we read this heavenly Lad,
As Ioseph's Son, was ever meanly clad;
Until the purple Robe, and thorny Crown,
Became the Iewish shame, and his renown.
Who would submit to that mock-dignity,
In highest scorn to his Divinity,
Who might command all Princes then to meet,
And lay their crowns and scepters at his Feet.
Foolish Herod! how blind, how strange a strife
Shewd'st thou to murder the young Lord of Life!
Unmindful of that new-created Star,
Which guided those wise Worshippers so far,
To justifie the Prophecies of old,
By his Forefathers so precisely told.