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_Salvator mundi natus est._ Be we merry in this feast, _In quo Salvator natus est._
On Christmas night an Angel told The shepherds watching by their fold, In Bethlehem, full nigh the wold, "_Salvator mundi natus est._"
Be we merry in this feast, _In quo Salvator natus est._
The shepherds were encompa.s.sed right, About them shone a glorious light, "Dread ye naught," said the Angel bright, "_Salvator mundi natus est._"
Be we merry in this feast, _In quo Salvator natus est._
"No cause have ye to be afraid, For why? this day is Jesus laid On Mary's lap, that gentle maid: _Salvator mundi natus est._ Be we merry in this feast, _In quo Salvator natus est._
"And thus in faith find him ye shall Laid poorly in an ox's stall."
The shepherds then lauded G.o.d all, _Quia Salvator natus est._ Be we merry in this feast, _In quo Salvator natus est._
_Christmas Carolles, A.D. 1550._
A CAROL IN THE PASTURES.
Sweet music, sweeter far Than any song is sweet: Sweet music, heavenly rare, Mine ears, O peers, doth greet.
You gentle flocks, whose fleeces, pearled with dew, Resemble heaven, whom golden drops make bright, Listen, O listen, now, O not to you Our pipes make sport to shorten weary night; But voices most divine Make blissful harmony: Voices that seem to s.h.i.+ne, For what else clears the sky?
Tunes can we hear, but not the singers see, The tunes divine, and so the singers be.
Lo, how the firmament Within an azure fold The flock of stars hath pent, That we might them behold; Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light, Nor can their crystals such reflection give.
What then doth make the element so bright?
The heavens are come down upon earth to live.
But hearken to the song, Glory to glory's king, And peace all men among, These quiristers do sing.
Angels they are, as also (Shepherds) he Whom in our fear we do admire to see.
Let not amazement blind Your souls, said he, annoy: To you and all mankind My message bringeth joy.
For lo, the world's great Shepherd now is born A blessed babe, an infant full of power: After long night uprisen is the morn, Renowning Bethl'em in the Saviour.
Sprung is the perfect day, By prophets seen afar: Sprung is the mirthful May, Which winter cannot mar.
In David's city doth this sun appear Clouded in flesh, yet, shepherds, sit we here?
_Edward Bolton._
[Ill.u.s.tration: A Shepherd]
THE SHEPHERDS.
Sweet, harmless livers! on whose holy leisure Waits innocence and pleasure; Whose leaders to those pastures and clear springs Were patriarchs, saints, and kings; How happened it that in the dead of night You only saw true light, While Palestine was fast asleep and lay Without one thought of day?
Was it because those first and blessed swains Were pilgrims on those plains When they received the promise, for which now 'Twas there first shown to you?
'Tis true he loves that dust whereon they go That serve him here below, And therefore might for memory of those His love then first disclose; But wretched Salem, once his love, must now No voice nor vision know; Her stately piles with all their height and pride Now languished and died, And Bethl'em's humble cots above them stept While all her seers slept; Her cedar fir, hewed stones, and gold were all Polluted through their fall; And those once sacred mansions were now Mere emptiness and show.
This made the angel call at reeds and thatch, Yet where the shepherds watch, And G.o.d's own lodging, though he could not lack, To be a common rack.
No costly pride, no soft-clothed luxury In those thin cells could lie; Each stirring wind and storm blew through their cots, Which never harbored plots; Only content and love and humble joys Lived there without all noise; Perhaps some harmless cares for the next day Did in their bosoms play: As where to lead their sheep, what silent nook, What springs or shades to look; But that was all; and now with gladsome care They for the town prepare; They leave their flock, and in a busy talk All towards Bethl'em walk, To seek their soul's great Shepherd who was come To bring all stragglers home; Where now they find him out, and, taught before, The Lamb of G.o.d adore, That Lamb, whose days great kings and prophets wished And longed to see, but missed.
The first light they beheld was bright and gay, And turned their night to day; But to this later light they saw in him, Their day was dark and dim.
_Henry Vaughan._
ON SHEPHERDS' PIPES.
O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!
Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise Of which that golden age which clears the skies Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight, Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight: Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!
Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread, Though withered--blessed gra.s.s that hath the grace To deck and be a carpet to that place!
Thus sang, unto the sounds, of oaten reed, Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees; And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.
_William Drummond._
ANGEL TIDINGS.
Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.
We bring the best of news; be not dismayed; A Saviour there is born more old than years, Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.
In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid A weakling did him bear, who all upbears; There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid, To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres: Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.
This is that night--no, day, grown great with bliss, In which the power of Satan broken is: In Heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!
Thus singing, through the air the angels swam, And cope of stars re-echoed the same.
_William Drummond._
THE NEWS-BEARERS.
The shepherds went their hasty way, And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay; And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe that at her bosom clung, A mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.
They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother's song, Blest angels heralded the Saviour's birth, Glory to G.o.d on high! and peace on earth!
She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she prest; And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast; Joy rose within her like a summer's morn; Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of peace is born.
