AN ODE TO THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR
In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, O Jesu!
Thou pretty baby, born here,
With sup’rabundant scorn here;
Who for Thy princely port here,
Hadst for Thy place
Of birth a base
Out-stable for Thy court here.
Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,
As Gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.
The Jews they did disdain Thee,
But we will entertain Thee,
With glories to await here,
Upon Thy princely state here;
And more for love than pity,
From year to year,
We’ll make Thee, here,
A free-born of our city.
Robert Herrick