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A Hymn of the Nativity, sung by the Shepherds. By Richard Kruscheahl. Read for LibriVox.org. By Florence Short. Chorus.
Come we Shepherds, who have seen Day's King Deposed by Night's Queen, Come lift we up our lofty song To wake the sun that sleeps too long. He in this our general joy Slept and dreamt of no such thing, While we found out the fair-eyed boy, And kissed the cradle of our King. Tell him he rises now too late To show us aught worth looking at.
Tell him we now can show him more Than he ere showed to mortal sight, Than he himself ere saw before, Which to be seen needs not his light. Tell him, Titerus, where the has been, Tell him, Thursis, what the has seen. Titerus. Gloomy night embraced the place Where the noble infant lay,
The babe looked up and showed his face, In spite of darkness it was day, It was thy day, sweet, and did rise Not from the east, but from thy eyes. Thursis. Winter chide the world, And sent the angry North to wage his wars. The North forgot his fierce intent And left perfumes instead of scars.
By those sweet eyes persuasive powers Where he met frosts, he scattered flowers. Both. We saw thee in thy balmy nest Bright dawn of our eternal day. We saw thine eyes break from the east And chase the trembling shades away. We saw thee, and we blessed the sight.
We saw thee by thine own sweet light. Titerus. I saw the curled drops, soft and slow, Come hovering o'er the place's head, Offering their white sheets of snow To furnish the fair infant's bed. Forbear, said I, be not too bold, Your fleece diswhite, but it's too cold.
Thursis. I saw the officious angels bring, The down that their soft-breasted strove, For well they now can spare their wings When heaven itself lies here below. Fair youth, said I, be not too rough, Thigh down, though soft's not soft enough. Titerus.
The babe no sooner gann to seek Where to lay his lovely head, But straight his eyes advised his cheek Twicks mother's breast to go to bed. Sweet choice, said I. No way but so, Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow. Chorus.
Welcome to our wondering sight, Eternity shut in a span. Summer in winter, day in night, Heaven in earth, and God in man. Great little one, whose glorious birth Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth. Welcome, though not to gold nor silk, To more than Caesar's birthright is, Two sister-seas of virgin's milk, With many a rarely tempered kiss,
That breathes at once both maid and mother, Warms in the one, cools in the other. She sings thy tears asleep, And dips her kisses in thy weeping eye. She spreads the red leaves of thy lips That in their buds yet blushing lie. She, against those mother diamonds, Tries the points of her young eagle's eyes. Welcome, though not to those gay flies, Gilded in the beams of earthly king's slippery souls
In smiling eyes, but to poor shepherds, Simple things that use no varnish, No oiled arts, but lift clean hands Full of clear hearts. Yet when young April's husband showers Shall bless the fruitful Maya's bed, We'll bring the first-born of her flowers To kiss thy feet and crown thy head, To thee, dread lamb, whose love must keep the shepherds While they feed their sheep,
To seek majesty, soft king of simple graces And sweet loves, each of us his lamb will bring, Each his pair of silver doves. At last, in fire of thy fair eyes, We'll burn our own best sacrifice. End of poem.
