Christ's Victory in Heaven

The birth of Him that no beginning knew,
Yet gives beginning to all that are born;
And how the Infinite far greater grew
By growing less; and how the rising morn,
That shot from heaven, did back to heaven return;
The obsequies of Him that could not die,
And death of life, end of eternity,
How worthily He died, that died unworthily; —

How God and man did both embrace each other,
Met in one Person, heaven and earth did kiss;
And how a Virgin did become a mother,
And bare that Son, who the world's Father is
And Maker of His mother; and how Bliss
Descended from the bosom of the High,
To clothe Himself in naked misery,
Sailing at length to heaven in earth, triumphantly —

Is the first flame, wherewith my whiter muse
Doth burn in heavenly love, such love to tell.
O Thou that didst this holy fire infuse,
And taught'st this breast — but late the grave of hell,
Wherein a blind and dead heart lived — to swell
With better thoughts, send down those lights that lend
Knowledge, how to begin, and how to end
The love, that never was, nor ever can be penned.

Ye sacred writings, in whose antique leaves
The memories of heaven entreasured lie,
Say, what might be the cause that mercy heaves
The dust of sin above the industrious sky,
And lets it not to dust and ashes fly?
Could Justice be of sin so overwooed,
Or so great ill be cause of so great good,
That bloody man to save, man's Saviour shed His blood?

Or did the lips of Mercy drop soft speech
For traitorous man, when at the Eternal's throne
Incensed Nemesis did Heaven beseech
With thundering voice, that justice might be shown
Against the rebels, that from God were flown?
O say, say how could mercy plead for those
That, scarcely made, against their Maker rose?
Will any slay his friend that he may spare his foes?

There is a place beyond that flaming hill,
From whence the stars their thin appearance shed;
A place beyond all place, where never ill
Nor impure thought was ever harboured;
But saintly heroes are for ever said
To keep an everlasting sabbath's rest,
Still wishing that, of what they're still possessed,
Enjoying but one joy, — but one of all joys best.

Here, when the ruin of that beauteous frame,
Whose golden building shined with every star
Of excellence, deformed with age became,
Mercy, remembering peace in midst of war,
Lift up the music of her voice, to bar
Eternal fate, lest it should quite erase
That from the world, which was the world's first grace,
And all again into their nothing — chaos — chase.

For what had all this all, which man in one
Did not unite? the earth, air, water, fire,
Life, sense, and spirit, nay, the powerful throne
Of the divinest Essence did retire,
And His own image into clay inspire:
So that this creature well might called be
Of the great world the small epitome —
Of the dead world, the live and quick anatomy.

But Justice had no sooner Mercy seen,
Smoothing the wrinkles of her Father's brow,
But up she starts, and throws herself between:
As when a vapour, from a moory slough,
Meeting with fresh Eous, that but now
Opened the world, which all in darkness lay,
Doth heaven's bright face of his rays disarray,
And sads the smiling orient of the springing day.

She was a virgin of austere regard;
Not as the world esteems her, deaf and blind;
But as the eagle, that hath oft compared
Her eye with Heaven's, so, and more brightly shined
Her lamping sight; for she the same could wind
Into the solid heart, and with her ears
The silence of the thought loud speaking hears,
And in one hand a pair of even scales she wears.

No riot of affection revel kept
Within her breast, but a still apathy
Possessed all her soul, which softly slept
Securely, without tempest — no sad cry
Awakes her pity, but wronged poverty,
Sending his eyes to heaven, swimming in tears,
With hideous clamours ever struck her ears,
Whetting the blazing sword that in her hand she bears.

The winged lightning is her Mercury,
And round about her mighty thunders sound:
Impatient of himself lies pining by
Pale Sickness, with his kerchered head upwound,
And thousand noisome plagues attend her round;
But if her cloudy brow but once grow foul,
The flints do melt, and rocks to water roll,
And airy mountains shake, and frighted shadows howl.

Famine, and bloodless Care, and bloody War,
Want, and the want of knowledge how to use
Abundance, Age, and Fear, that runs afar
Before his fellow Grief, that aye pursues
His winged steps; for who would not refuse
Grief's company, a dull and rawbon'd sprite,
That lanks the cheeks, and pales the freshest sight,
Unbosoming the cheerful breast of all delight?

Before this cursed throng goes Ignorance,
That needs will lead the way he cannot see:
And, after all, Death doth his flag advance,
And, in the midst, Strife still would raging be,
Whose ragged flesh and clothes did well agree:
And round about amazed Horror flies,
And, over all, Shame veils his guilty eyes,
And underneath, hell's hungry throat still yawning lies.

Upon two stony tables, spread before her,
She leaned her bosom, more than stony hard;
There slept the unpartial judge, and strict restorer
Of wrong or right, with pain or with reward;
There hung the score of all our debts, the card
Where good, and bad, and life, and death were painted:
Was never heart of mortal so untainted,
But when that scroll was read, with thousand terrors fainted.

Witness the thunder that mount Sinai heard,
When all the hill with fiery clouds did flame,
And wandering Israel, with the sight afeard,
Blinded with seeing, durst not touch the same,
But like a wood of shaking leaves became.
On this dead justice, she, the living law,
Bowing herself with a majestic awe,
All heaven, to hear her speech, did into silence draw.

"Dread Lord of spirits, well Thou didst devise
To fling the world's rude dunghill, and the dross
Of the old chaos, farthest from the skies,
And Thine own seat, that here the child of loss,
Of all the lower heaven the curse and cross;
That wretch, beast, caitiff, monster — man, might spend,
(Proud of the mire, in which his soul is penned,)
Clodded in lumps of clay, his weary life to end.

"His body dust — where grew such cause of pride?
His soul Thy image — what could he envy?
Himself most happy, if he so would bide:
Now grown most wretched, who can remedy?
He slew himself, himself the enemy;
That his own soul would her own murder wreak, —
If I were silent, heaven and earth would speak;
And, if all failed, these stones would into clamours break.

How many darts made furrows in his side,
When she, that out of his own side was made,
Gave feathers to their flight? where was the pride
Of their new knowledge? whither did it fade,
When, running from Thy voice into the shade,
He fled Thy sight, himself of sight bereaved;
And for his shield a leavie armour weaved,
With which (vain man) he thought God's eyes to have deceived?

And well he might delude those eyes, that see
And judge by colours: for who ever saw
A man of leaves, a reasonable tree?
But those that from this stock their life did draw,
Soon made their father godly, and by law
Proclaimed trees almighty: gods of wood,
Of stocks, and stones with crowns of laurel stood
Templed, and fed by fathers with their children's blood.

"The sparkling fanes, that burn in beaten gold,
And, like the stars of heaven in midst of night,
Black Egypt, as her mirrors, doth behold,
Are but the dens where idol-snakes delight
Again to cover Satan from their sight:
Yet these are all their gods, to whom they vie
The crocodile, the cock, the rat, the fly —
Fit gods, indeed, for such men to be served by.

"The fire, the wind, the sea, the sun, and moon,
The flitting air, and the swift-winged hours,
And all the watchmen, that so nimbly run,
And sentinel about the walled towers
Of the world's city, in their heavenly bowers;
And, lest their pleasant gods should want delight,
Neptune spues out the lady Aphrodite,
And, but in heaven, proud Juno's peacocks scorn to light

"The senseless earth, the serpent, dog, and cat,
And, worse than all these, Man, and worst of men,
Usurping Jove, and swilling Bacchus fat,
And drunk with the vine's purple blood; and then
The fiend himself they conjure from his den,
Because he only yet remained to be
Worse than the worst of men — they fly from Thee,
And wear his altar-stones out with their pliant knee.

"All that he speaks (and all he speaks are lies)
Are oracles; 'tis he (that wounded all)
Cures all their wounds, he (that put out their eyes)
That gives them light, he (that death first did call
Into the world) that with his orizal
Inspirits earth: he Heaven's all-seeing eye,
He earth's great prophet, he, whom rest doth fly,
That on salt billows doth, as pillows, sleeping lie.

"But let him in his cabin restless rest,
The dungeon of dark flames, and freezing fire,
Justice in heaven against man makes request
To God, and of His angels doth require
Sin's punishment: if what I did desire,
Or who, or against whom, or why or where,
Of, or before whom ignorant I were,
Then should my speech their sands of sins to moun- tains rear.

"Were not the heavens pure, in whose courts I sue;
The Judge, to whom I sue, just to requite him;
The cause for sin, the punishment most due;
Justice herself the plaintiff to indict him:
The angels holy, before whom I cite him;
He against whom, wicked, unjust, impure; —
Then might he sinful live, and die secure,
Or trial might escape, or trial might endure.

"The judge might partial be, and overprayed;
The place appealed from, in whose courts he sues;
The fault excused, or punishment delayed,
The parties self-accused, that did accuse;
Angels for pardon might their prayers use:
But now no star can shine, no hope be got.
Most wretched creature, if he knew his lot, —
And yet more wretched far, because he knows it not.

What should I tell how barren earth is grown,
All for to starve her children? didst not Thou
Water with heavenly showers her womb unsown,
And drop down clouds of flowers — didst not Thou bow
Thine easy ear unto the ploughman's vow —
Long might he look, and look, and long in vain
Might load his harvest in an empty wain,
And beat the woods, to find the poor oak's hungry grain.

The swelling sea seethes in his angry waves,
And smites the earth, that dares the traitors nourish;
Yet oft his thunder their light cork outbraves,
Mowing the mountains, on whose temples flourish
Whole woods of garlands; and, their pride to cherish,
Plough through the sea's green fields, and nets display
To catch the flying winds, and steal away,
Cosening the greedy sea, prisoning their nimble prey.

"How often have I seen the waving pine,
Tossed on a watery mountain, knock his head
At heaven's too patient gates, and with salt brine
Quench the moon's burning horns; and safely fled
From heaven's revenge, her passengers, all dead
With stiff astonishment, tumble to hell!
How oft the sea all earth would overswell,
Did not Thy sandy girdle bind the mighty well!

"Would not the air be filled with steams of death,
To poison the quick rivers of their blood,
Did not Thy winds fan, with their panting breath,
The flitting region? would not the hasty flood
Empty itself into the sea's wide wood,
Didst thou not lead it wandering from his way,
To give men drink, and make his waters stray,
To fresh the flowery meadows, through whose fields they play?

"Who makes the sources of the silver fountains
From the flint's mouth, and rocky valleys slide,
Thickening the airy bowels of the mountains?
Who hath the wild herds of the forest tied
In their cold dens, making them hungry bide
Till man to rest be laid? can beastly he,
That should have most sense, only senseless be,
And all things else, beside himself, so aweful see?

"Were he not wilder than the savage beast,
Prouder than haughty hills, harder than rocks,
Colder than fountains, from their springs released,
Lighter than air, blinder than senseless stocks,
More changing than the river's curling locks, —
If reason would not, sense would soon reprove him,
And unto shame, if not to sorrow, move him,
To see cold floods, wild beasts, dull stocks, hard stones outlove him.

"Under the weight of sin the earth did fall,
And swallow'd Dathan; and the raging wind,
And stormy sea, and gaping whale did call
For Jonas; and the air did bullets find,
And shot from heaven a stony shower, to grind
The five proud kings, that for their idols fought;
The sun itself stood still to fight it out,
And fire from heaven flew down, when sin to heaven did shout.

"Should any to himself for safety fly?
The way to save himself, if any were,
Were to fly from himself: should he rely
Upon the promise of his wife? but there,
What can he see, but that he most may fear,
A syren, sweet to death? upon his friends?
Who that he needs, or that he hath not, lends?
Or, wanting aid himself, aid to another sends?

"His strength? but dust: his pleasure? cause of pain:
His hope? false courtier: youth or beauty? brittle:
Entreaty? fond: repentance? late and vain:
Just recompense? the world were all too little:
Thy love? he hath no title to a tittle:
Hell's force? in vain, her furies hell shall gather:
His servants, kinsmen, or his children rather?
His child, if good, shall judge; if bad, shall curse his father.

His life? that brings him to his end, and leaves him:
His end? that leaves him to begin his woe:
His goods? what good in that, that so deceives him?
His gods of wood? their feet, alas! are slow
To go to help, that must be helped to go:
Honour? great worth? ah, little worth they be
Unto their owners: wit? that makes him see
He wanted wit, that thought he had it, wanting Thee.

"The sea to drink him quick? that casts his dead:
Angels to spare? they punish: night to hide?
The world shall burn in light: the heavens to spread
Their wings to save him? heaven itself shall slide,
And roll away like melting stars, that glide
Along their oily threads: his mind pursues him:
His house to shroud, or hills to fall, and bruise him?
As sergeants both attach, and witnesses accuse him.

"What need I urge — what they must needs confess —
Sentence on them, condemned by their own lust?
I crave no more, and Thou canst give no less,
Than death to dead men, justice to unjust;
Shame to most shameful, and most shameless dust:
But if Thy mercy needs must spare her friends,
Let mercy there begin, where justice ends.
'Tis cruel mercy, that the wrong from right defends."

She ended, and the heavenly hierarchies,
Burning in zeal, thickly embranded were;
Like to an army that alarum cries,
And every one shakes his ydraded spear,
And the Almighty's self, as He would tear
The earth and her firm basis quite in sunder,
Flamed all in just revenge, and mighty thunder;
Heaven stole itself from earth by clouds that moistured under.

As when the cheerful sun, damping wide,
Glads all the world with his uprising ray,
And woos the widowed earth afresh to pride,
And paints her bosom with the flowery May,
His silent sister steals him quite away,
Wrapped in a sable cloud, from mortal eyes,
The hasty stars at noon begin to rise,
And headlong to his early roost the sparrow flies:

But soon as he again dis-shadowed is,
Restoring the blind world his blemished sight,
As though another world were newly his,
The cosened birds busily take their flight,
And wonder at the shortness of the night;
So Mercy once again herself displays,
Out from her sister's cloud, and open lays
Those sunshine looks, whose beams would dim a thousand days.

How may a worm, that crawls along the dust,
Clamber the azure mountains, thrown so high,
And fetch from thence thy fair idea just,
That in those sunny courts doth hidden lie,
Clothed with such light, as blinds the angels' eye?
How may weak mortal ever hope to file
His unsmooth tongue, and his deprostrate style?
O, raise thou from his corse thy now entombed exile!

One touch would rouse me from my sluggish hearse,
One word would call me to my wished home,
One look would polish my afflicted verse,
One thought would steal my soul from her thick loam,
And force it wandering up to heaven to come,
There to importune, and to beg apace
One happy favour of thy sacred grace,
To see — what though it lose her eyes? — to see thy face.

If any ask why roses please the sight?
Because their leaves upon thy cheeks do bower:
If any ask why lilies are so white?
Because their blossoms in thy hand do flower:
Or why sweet plants so grateful odours shower?
It is because thy breath so like they be:
Or why the orient sun so bright we see?
What reason can we give, but from thine eyes, and thee?

Rosed in all lively crimson are thy cheeks,
Where beauties indeflourishing abide,
And, as to pass his fellow either seeks,
Seems both do blush at one another's pride;
And on thine eyelids, waiting thee beside,
Ten thousand graces sit, and when they move
To earth their amorous belgards from above,
They fly from heaven, and on their wings convey thy love.

All of discoloured plumes their wings are made,
And with so wondrous art the quills are wrought,
That whensoe'er they cut the airy glade,
The wind into their hollow pipes is caught:
As seems the spheres with them they down have brought:
Like to the sevenfold reed of Arcady,
Which Pan of Syrinx made, when she did fly
To Ladon sands, and at his sighs sung merrily.

As melting honey, dropping from the comb,
So still the words, that spring between thy lips.
Thy lips, where smiling sweetness keeps her home,
And heavenly eloquence pure manna sips:
He that his pen but in that fountain dips,
How nimbly will the golden phrases fly,
And shed forth streams of choicest rhetory,
Welling celestial torrents out of poesy!

Like as the thirsty land, in summer's heat,
Calls to the clouds, and gapes at every shower,
As though her hungry clefts all heaven would eat,
Which if high God into her bosom pour,
Though much refreshed, yet more she could devour;
So hang the greedy ears of Angels sweet,
And every breath a thousand Cupids meet,
Some flying in, some out, and all about her fleet.

Upon her breast delight doth softly sleep.
And of eternal joy is brought abed,
Those snowy mountelets, through which do creep
The milky rivers, that are inly bred
In silver cisterns, and themselves do shed
To weary travellers, in heat of day,
To quench their fiery thirst, and to allay
With dropping nectar floods, the fury of their way.

If any wander, thou dost call him back;
If any be not forward, thou incitest him;
Thou dost expect, if any should grow slack;
If any seem but willing, thou invitest him;
Or if he do offend thee, thou acquittest him:
Thou findest the lost, and followest him that flies,
Healing the sick, and quickening him that dies,
Thou art the lame man's friendly staff, the blind man's eyes.

So fair thou art, that all would thee behold;
But none can thee behold, thou art so fair;
Pardon, O pardon then thy vassal bold,
That with poor shadows strives thee to compare,
And match the things, which he knows matchless are.
Thou O vive mirror of celestial grace,
How can frail colours portray out thy face,
Or paint in flesh thy beauty, in such semblance base?

Her upper garment was a silken lawn,
With needlework richly embroidered,
Which she herself with her own hand had drawn,
And all the world therein had portrayed,
With threads so fresh and lively coloured
That seemed the world she new created there,
And the mistaken eye would rashly swear
The silken trees did grow, and the beasts living were.

Low at her feet the earth was cast alone,
(As though to kiss her foot it did aspire,
And gave itself for her to tread upon,)
With so unlike, and different attire,
That every one that saw it did admire
What it might be, was of so various hue;
For to itself it oft so diverse grew,
That still it seemed the same, and still it seemed a new.

And here and there few men she scattered,
(That in their thought the world esteem but small,
And themselves great,) but she with one fine thread
So short, and small, and slender, wove them all,
That like a sort of busy ants, that crawl
About some molehill, so they wandered;
And round about the waving sea was shed:
But, for the silver sands, small pearls were sprinkled.

So curiously the underwork did creep,
And curling circlets so well shadowed lay,
That afar off the waters seemed to sleep;
But those that near the margin pearl did play,
Hoarsely enwaved were with hasty sway,
As though they meant to rock the gentle ear,
And hush the former that enslumbered were:
And here a dangerous rock the flying ships did fear.

High in the airy element there hung
Another cloudy sea, that did disdain
(As though his purer waves from heaven sprung)
To crawl on earth, as doth the sluggish main:
But it the earth would water with his rain,
That ebbed and flowed, as wind and season would,
And oft the sun would cleave the limber mould
To alabaster rocks, that in the liquid rolled.

Beneath those sunny banks, a darker cloud,
Dropping with thicker dew, did melt apace,
And bent itself into a hollow shroud,
On which, if Mercy did but cast her face,
A thousand colours did the bow enchase,
That wonder was to see the silk distained
With the resplendence from her beauty gained,
And Iris paint her locks with beams so lively feigned.

About her head a Cyprus heaven she wore,
Spread like a veil upheld with silver wire,
In which the stars so burnt in golden ore,
As seemed the azure web was all on fire:
But hastily, to quench the sparkling ire,
A flood of milk came rolling up the shore,
That on his curded wave swift Argus bore,
And the immortal swan, that did her life deplore.

Yet strange it was so many stars to see,
Without a sun to give their tapers light:
Yet strange it was not, that it so should be;
For, where the sun centres himself by right,
Her face, and locks did flame, that at the sight
The heavenly veil, that else should nimbly move,
Forgot his flight, and all incensed with love,
With wonder, and amazement, did her beauty prove.

Over her hung a canopy of state,
Not of rich tissue, nor of spangled gold,
But of a substance, though not animate,
Yet of a heavenly and spiritual mould,
That only eyes of spirits might behold;
Such light as from main rocks of diamond,
Shooting their sparks at Phoebus, would rebound,
And little angels, holding hands, danced all around.

Seemed those little sprites, through nimbless bold,
The stately canopy bore on their wings,
But them itself, as pendants, did uphold,
Besides the crowns of many famous kings:
Among the rest, there David ever sings,
And now, with years grown young, renews his lays
Unto his golden harp, and ditties plays,
Psalming aloud in well-tuned songs his Maker's praise.

Thou Self-Idea of all joys to come,
Whose love is such, would make the rudest speak,
Whose love is such, would make the wisest dumb,
O, when wilt thou thy too long silence break,
And overcome the strong to save the weak?
If thou no weapons hast, thine eyes will wound
Th' Almighty's self, that now gaze on the ground,
As though some blessed object there did them em- pound.

Ah! miserable abject of disgrace,
What happiness is in thy misery!
I both must pity and envy thy case;
For she, that is the glory of the sky,
Leaves Heaven blind to fix on thee her eye.
Yet her (though Mercy's self esteems not small)
The world despised, they her Repentance call,
And she herself despises, and the world, and all.

Deeply, alas! empassioned she stood,
To see a flaming brand, tossed up from hell,
Boiling her heart in her own lustful blood,
That oft for torment she would loudly yell;
Now she would sighing sit, and now she fell
Crouching upon the ground, in sackcloth trussed;
Early and late she prayed, and fast she must,
And all her hair hung full of ashes and of dust.

Of all most hated, hated most of all
Of her own self she was; disconsolate
(As though her flesh did but infuneral
Her buried ghost) she in an arbour sate
Of thorny briar, weeping her cursed state;
And her before, a hasty river fled,
Which her blind eyes with faithful penance fed,
And, all about, the grass with tears hung down his head.

Her eyes, though blind abroad, at home kept fast,
Inwards they turned, and looked into her head,
At which she often started, as aghast,
To see so fearful spectacles of dread;
And with one hand her breast she martyred,
Wounding her heart, the same to mortify;
The other a fair damsel held her by,
Which if but once let go, she sunk immediately.

But Faith was quick, and nimble as the heaven,
As if of love and life she all had been,
And though of present sight her sense were riven,
Yet she could see the things could not be seen:
Beyond the stars, as nothing were between,
She fixed her sight, disdaining things below:
Into the sea she could a mountain throw,
And make the sun to stand, and waters backwards flow.

Such whenas Mercy her beheld from high,
In a dark valley, drowned with her own tears,
One of her graces she sent hastily,
Smiling Irene, that a garland wears
Of gilded olive, on her fairer hairs,
To crown the fainting soul's true sacrifice,
Whom whenas sad Repentance coming spies,
The holy desperado wiped her swollen eyes.

But Mercy felt a kind remorse to run
Through her soft veins, and therefore, hieing fast
To give an end to silence, thus begun: —
"Aye-honour'd Father, if no joy thou hast
But to reward desert, reward at last
The devil's voice, spoke with a serpent's tongue,
Fit to hiss out the words so deadly stung,
And let him die, death's bitter charms so sweetly sung.

"He was the father of that hopeless season,
That, to serve other gods, forgot their own,
The reason was, Thou wast above their reason:
They would have any gods, rather than none,
A beastly serpent, or a senseless stone:
And these, as Justice hates, so I deplore;
But the upploughed heart, all rent and tore,
Though wounded by itself, I gladly would restore.

"He was but dust; why feared he not to fall?
And, being fallen, how can he hope to live?
Cannot the hand destroy him, that made all?
Could He not take away, as well as give?
Should man deprave, and should not God deprive?
Was it not all the world's deceiving spirit,
(That, bladdered up with pride of his own merit,
Fell in his rise,) that him of heaven did disinherit?

"He was but dust: how could he stand before him?
And, being fallen, why should he fear to die?
Cannot the hand that made him first, restore him?
Depraved of sin, should he deprived lie
Of grace? can He not hide infirmity
That gave him strength? unworthy the forsaking,
He is, whoever weighs, without mistaking,
Or Maker of the man, or manner of his making.

"Who shall Thy temple incense any more?
Or at Thy altar crown the sacrifice;
Or strew with idle flowers the hallowed floor?
Or what should Prayer deck with herbs and spice
Her vials, breathing orisons of price?
If all must pay that which all cannot pay,
O first begin with me, and Mercy slay,
And Thy thrice honoured Son, that now beneath doth stray.

"But if or He, or I, may live and speak,
And heaven can joy to see a sinner weep,
Oh let not Justice' iron sceptre break
A heart already broke; that low doth creep,
And with prone humblesse her feet's dust doth sweep.
Must all go by desert? is nothing free?
Ah! if but those that only worthy be,
None should Thee ever see, none should Thee ever see.

"What hath man done, that man shall not undo;
Since God to him is grown so near akin?
Did his foe slay him? He shall slay his foe:
Hath he lost all? He all again shall win:
Is sin his master? He shall master sin.
Too hardy soul, with sin the field to try:
The only way to conquer was to fly;
But thus long death hath lived, and now death's self shall die.

"He is a path, if any be misled;
He is a robe, if any naked be:
If any chance to hunger, He is bread;
If any be a bondman, He is free:
If any be but weak, how strong is He!
To dead men life He is, to sick men health;
To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth —
A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth.

"Who can forget — never to be forgot —
The time that all the world in slumber lies,
When, like the stars, the singing angels shot
To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes,
To see another sun at midnight rise
On earth? Was never sight of pareil fame;
For God before, man like Himself did frame,
But God Himself now like a mortal man became.

"A Child He was, and had not learn'd to speak,
That with His word the world before did make:
His mother's arms Him bore, He was so weak,
That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake.
See how small room my infant Lord doth take,
Whom all the world is not enough to hold!
Who of His years, or of His age, hath told?
Never such age so young, never a Child so old.

"And yet but newly He was infanted,
And yet already He was sought to die;
Yet scarcely born, already banished;
Not able yet to go, and forced to fly:
But scarcely fled away, when, by-and-by,
The tyrant's sword with blood is all defiled,
And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild,
Cries, O thou cruel king, and, O my sweetest child!

"Egypt his nurse became, where Nilus springs,
Who straight to entertain the rising sun,
The hasty harvest in his bosom brings;
But now for drieth the fields were all undone,
And now with waters all is overrun:
So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow,
When once they felt the sun so near them glow,
That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow.

"The angels carolled loud their song of peace;
The cursed oracles were stricken dumb;
To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press;
To see their King the kingly sophies come:
And, them to guide unto his Master's home,
A star comes dancing up the orient,
That springs for joy over the starry tent,
Where gold, to make their Prince a crown, they all present.

"Young John, glad child! before he could be born,
Leaped in the womb, his joy to prophecy;
Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn,
Proclaims her Saviour to posterity,
And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply.
Oh, how the blessed souls about him trace
It is the Sire of heaven thou dost embrace:
Sing, Simeon, sing — sing, Simeon, sing apace!

With that the mighty thunder dropt away
From God's unwary arm, now milder grown,
And melted into tears; as if to pray
For pardon, and for pity, it had known,
That should have been for sacred vengeance thrown:
There too the armies angelic devowed
Their former rage, and all to Mercy bowed;
Their broken weapons at her feet they gladly strowed.

"Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets,
Painted with every choicest flower that grows,
That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets,
To strow the fields with odours where He goes,
Let whatsoe'er He treads on be a rose."
So down she let her eyelids fall, to shine
Upon the rivers of bright Palestine,
Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine.