May she enjoy it
Whose merit dare apply it,
But modesty dares still deny it!
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full glory,
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions:—but her story.
QUEM VIDISTIS PASTORES, ETC.
A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY, SUNG BY THE SHEPHERDS
Chorus
Come, we shepherds whose blest sight
Hath met Love’s noon in Nature’s night;
Come lift we up our loftier song,
And wake the sun that lies too long.
To all our world of well-stol’n joy
He slept, and dreamt of no such thing,
While we found out Heaven’s fairer eye,
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 e’er showed to mortal sight,
Than he himself e’er saw before,
Which to be seen needs not his light:
Tell him, Tityrus, where th’ hast been,
Tell him, Thyrsis, what th’ hast seen.
Tityrus
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 Thine eyes.
Chorus. It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise,
Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.