Behold, a silly, tender babe In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies: Alas, a piteous sight. The inns are full; no man will yield This little Pilgrim bed, But forced he is with silly beasts In crib to shroud His head. Despise not Him for lying there, First what he is inquire; An orient pearl is often found In depth of dirty mire. Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish. Nor beasts that by Him feed; Weigh not His mother's poor attire, Nor Joseph's simple weed. This stable is a Prince's court. This crib His chair of state; The beasts are parcel of His pomp, The wooden dish His plate. The persons in that poor attire His royal liveries wear; The Prince Himself is come from Heaven, This pomp is prized there. With joy approach, O Christian wight! Do homage to thy King, And highly praise His humble pomp Which He from Heaven doth bring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHORUS FROM A TRAGEDY by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) THE SUMMONS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 15 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE GREY MONK by WILLIAM BLAKE A DIGIT OF THE MOON by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT IT IS FINISHED by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR |