Such was the beautiful death of the old year 1872.

The Nativity Of Christe.

Behould the Father is His daughter's Sonne,

The bird that built the nest is hatched therein,

The Old of Yeares an hower hath not outrunne,

Eternall life to live doth now beginnn,

The Word is dumm, the Mirth of heaven doth weepe,

Mighte feeble is, and Force doth fayntely creepe.

O dyinge soules! behould your living Spring!