TWO HYMNS For the Nativity of CHRIST. Whereunto are added, A newyears Gift, AND An HYMN for the Feast of TWELF-TIDE.  
The Musical part being set by Mr R. M.  
Printed at LONDON, 1650.   

An HYMN For the Nativity of Christ, Sung as by Shepherds.  

RIse, sullen Sun, what lie a bed!  
Thou deep, dull traitorous hypocrite:  
The Sun of heaven hath shown his head  
This morn, and not your beams light yet?  
For shame, for shame, bring perfect day;  
For here's a Sun in beams of Hay;  
Who hath brought perfect beams to night,  
〈◊〉 yet your beams must give them light.  
Then rear thy head, and go along  
With us, in power of Praise and Song.   

Hark, how the Angels from the sky,  
All sorts of Cherubins beside,  
Divinely make one Harmony,  
At this December's blessed Tide:  
Angels above, and Kings below,  
To make complete this day, bestow  
Sweet Odours from the East,  
To scent our Phoenix nest,  
And Gold t'enrich this Feast.   

The Firmament in bright array,  
Is beautified with Stars, and laid  
In Gold, as if upon this day  
Ordered to wait upon the Babe.  
Stars splendent show, cause from us far,  
Out of a Manger, shines a Star  
Which more light to the world  
Affords, than those Stars twirled,  
Or 'bout the Poles are whirled.   

In the vast sky a Star did shine  
To us poor Shepherds: by that light  
W'were brought unto the Babe divine,  
Delivered from nature's night;  
Where in an inn, nay Horses inn,  
The Babe his first breath did begin.  
O vast Eternity,  
Godhead-Divinity,  
Manhood-Nativity!   

This is the News we Shepherds bring;  
Our eyes have seen a starry Stranger:  
We kissed the Cradle of our King  
At Bethlehem, a dirty Manger;  
Whose body tender close did lie  
Unto his Mother, Virgin Mary.  
A Virgin chaste and pure,  
As Mother, did endure  
The pangs of Woman sure.   

We saw no Curtains but black Night,  
The Virgin-Mother to keep warm:  
Earths nightly raiment turned to white,  
When Blessedness itself was born:  
And so the Firmament did strew  
Its Winter-stars, pure Snow, below.  
So bedded was the Cradle,  
And lined was the Stable  
With pure, but cold movables.   

No sooner from the womb he came,  
Translated God for Man did cry:  
Virgin, Maid, Mother, Married-dame,  
She was by this blessed Deity.  
Earth, wonder much; Heaven, much more!  
Godhead clothed in Manhood poor.  
Gold like to Gold, when sod,  
Appears, though in dirt trod:  
And God, in Flesh, was God.   

The Babe sings, cries, and tunes out groans,  
As if he hence departing were.  
What draws out groans, but inward moans  
And after groans, drop trickling tears.  
Oh what a day is this to us,  
That God for Man must suffer thus!  
Highest with One above,  
Man 'mongst men must move,  
Vastness of depths in love.   

We saw the Babe, the Babe this morn;  
Compute we cannot yet his age:  
Before years were, he long was born,  
In God's intent, to feed his Rage,  
Lest it should Man devour. We see  
Him born, who was born before we.  
Adam first, this Adam next;  
So in order to the Text,  
This born before That expressed.   

Farewell, dear Virgin, rich with Balms,  
And Sweets of heavenly paradise:  
Paradise thou hast in thine arms,  
A fleshy Bundle of heaven's Spice,  
Which dropped from heaven in human form.  
Regained is paradise this morn.  
Oblest Nativity,  
Which from the Deity  
Sprang this Benignity.   

And thee, dear Babe, whose Royal head  
Embalmed lies in Innocence;  
Betwixt two breasts making thy bed:  
She could procure none other fence.  
Should he return to earth again,  
‛ Would find less Faith, and more Disdain.  
With Garlands wreathed with Bays,  
And rosemary always,  
We'll crown this birth of days.   

God is become an earthly guest:  
'Tis the sweet pride of his Humility,  
To board himself at Mary's breast;  
And where he tables, there to lie.  
Sweet are thy shifts, thou King of kings,  
Sucking all day two milky springs:  
And when at night thou'rt called to bed,  
No more theyare food, but pillows spread,  
To rest thy wearied head. They prove  
At once both Food, and Bed of love.    

Another.  

NOt yet arrived, swift Post of Day!  
Into the Stars thy Chariot  
Is driven, or else another way  
Turned; so the nearest way forgot.  
Thou flying Day, thou winged Car,  
Thou art outgone by a Foot-post Star,  
Which shined a Sun, and had such streams,  
As led us to the Son of beams.   

A gross Mistake! the Sun's awake,  
And dances on the Ocean;  
Now draws his streams from off the Lake,  
And to the Earth's in motion.  
Thus are we cozened with a fine Mistake;  
The Sun's long rose, we new awake.  
Volleys of voice both strong and loud  
We'll sing, till he's wrapped in his Cloud.   

Glory hath changed seats with the high  
And mighty majesty of Heaven:  
For, in this little majesty,  
Is perfect God to the Earth given.  
Thus God above here made a bed  
For God below to lay his head.   

Eternal vast Eternity  
Heaven doth this day afford the Earth.  
Welcome, sweet Span of endless glory!  
Angels and we thus sound thy Birth.  
Since Heaven is here, we'll look no higher,  
Finding God here, in man's attire.   

What need we upwards roll our eyes,  
To view the firmament of Stars?  
For here's the Sphere, where fixed lies  
All beauty, which their beauty mars.  
Oh here is Heaven below; we see  
God lying on his mother's knee.   

But we'll up look, and view the clear  
Bright firmament of Stars: What now?  
They're fixed in his eyes, the sphere  
All circled by his smooth white brow.  
Thus are we taught by what's here given,  
No more t' look up, but down, to Heaven,   

Hark, here is more of Heaven now heard;  
Stars from his eyes do fall apace;  
At which brisk Cherubs not afraid,  
Enthrone themselves upon his face,  
Sucking the Diamondt from his eyes,  
Then fly away, and in the skies   

Scatrer fresh Stars, and so became  
The watery region twixt two Heavens,  
To be remade a spangled frame,  
Since Heaven and Earth were twins themselves.  
Therefore no eldership is made  
Twixt Heaven and Earth, since here he's laid,  
For, long before a day was made,  
He, as you see, in earth was laid.   

Now welcome all that's from above,  
And welfare all that are below:  
Let's sing the story of heaven's love:  
The Spheres are at it long ago:  
And shall the Earth, that's new made Heaven,  
Not with the Spheres in praise be even?   

Music and Love shall have a Duel,  
Which shall outvie in sound and show;  
And yet we'll add some sacred fuel,  
To heighten Voice with music too.  
But such a Concord shall agree,  
As if Earth were heaven's harmony.   

Sound, Heaven and Earth, each sweet-lipped thing,  
And burn Perfumes at every Song;  
Bedew with myrrh each well-stretched string,  
And tune a Base that's heard among  
The choir of Angels; so they shall,  
To hear our sounds, be ravished all.   

Whilst the small music shall affright  
The inn th'rowont, and wake each Groom▪  
That hath not slept two hours this night,  
And yawning, wonder it should be noon.  
With speed, affrighted, to the Stable  
They run, to cleanse, but are not able.   

Some of the Hay hath Angels quilted,  
To cover here this All-Small-Great;  
Whilst some, like rays, his eyes have gilded,  
As lacing to his lodging-sheet.  
You see the Babe, a minute old,  
Turns spires of Grass to beams of Gold.  
If any ask why yellow's Hay,  
It's soon resolved; God 'mongst it lay.   

No more of mirth, the Babe's at rest,  
Lulled with the Lullabies of Mary,  
In the warm Cradle twixt her breast,  
Lest the pure Lamb should else miscarry.  
Sweet Babe, it is thy mother's faith,  
To fear, though God in arms she hath.   

Fear not, weep not, sweetest Mary;  
Why strew you tears on the face  
Of your lulled Babe? Tears will carry  
News to his Father from this place,  
That you, for pain of this poor morn,  
More sigh, than joy that God is born.   

Let not thy faith, sweet Mary, slinch:  
Hosts of bright Angels centre can,  
With all their glory, in an inch,  
And cannot yours in this blessed Span?  
Many in less, and cannot one  
Have faith enough in God, her own?   

Oh wouldst thou know what heaven is doing?  
Preparing Maps to draw a new  
Celestial compass: They are viewing  
Thee and the Babe; that Heaven's you two▪  
A Heavenly Substance, not a Map,  
Mary, thou hast upon thy lap.   

Oh Virgin-son, by title Heir  
No Heaven; by birth, a Heaven itself:  
Thy virgin-mothers' Dearest fair,  
Thou King of Earth, not of its Wealth:  
What shall we offer up unto thee?  
Thou King of Heaven we have nothing for thee.   

The Infant-day's an hour old:  
Day and thy Beams do clear discover  
The Vileness of poor Shepherds bold,  
To tune thy birth before thy mother.  
Give thee us leave hence to depart,  
We'll come and praise thee with new heart,   

And fill this Kingly Court of thine,  
If thou accept our homespun loves,  
With this our Sacrifice Divine,  
A slain fat Lamb, fair Turtle Doves:  
Such, and ourselves, we will prefer  
A Sacrifice at thy altar:  
And so we'll spend in clouds of bays,  
And Rosemary, this Christ-tide praise.  
And if thy Court, dread Babe, remove from us,  
The Sun not Stars, shall guide us to the Jesus.    

THE newyears GIFT.  
THou hast the art of Time: always in haste,  
Flying continually, and yet not waste  
One grain of sand! Nor doth thy rossing speed  
Make Times pass wider, or the sand more glide;  
But measurest Time so truly by thy Glass,  
That not a sand, till its due time, doth pass.  
Thou wastes not by thy haste; but bringst about  
Thy hour unto our years end; so turn'st out  
The Old, to entertain a New; and then  
Turn'st up thy Annual Glass, to run again;  
Charging thy hour to hold course with the Sun,  
And with such speed to haste, till th'yeer be done.  
What! Is our year an hour? Time flies indeed:  
And is thy hour a year? there wants winged speed;  
Thy yeers but short, thy hour wondrous long:  
Both short of ours, yet with our year art gone.  
Dark Riddles of Mysterious Time! What's day,  
If that thy hour's a year? Resolve I pray.  
Nay, what are Days and Months? when summed up all,  
Are in an hour, and yet that's Annual!  
Time with such time th''ve no time; yet thou hast  
The hour for this year, that thou hadst for the last.  
And since thy golden minute's run a fresh,  
Heaven open our hands and hearts, that we may express  
The bounty of this Day in several ways;  
And whilst some give, let others give their praise  
For what's received; others that on this day  
Do nothing give, lift up their hands and Pray,  
That Joy would kiss this infant-budding-yeer,  
And crown our hopeful Seasons that appear,  
Through the fresh springtide of this glorious day:  
Heavens Casements open, and all its beams display,  
Kissing and courting Earth, as if there were  
At once two Deities in Heaven and Here.  
How sweetly tune the Spheres? How moves the Sun?  
That antic Masquer knows not where to run  
To hide his head this morn, seeing one shines  
In Earth more glorious: he droops, and so declines.   

An HYMN for the Epiphany, Or, Feast of Twelftide.  

WHat rocked asleep in a Ruby-bed  
Of Worth, or Imitation!  
Come, rise, and show thy rosy head,  
After the Circumcision.   

What, must thy Chariot still appear  
Lined with vermilion lacings?  
its Twelftide now; present most clear  
Thyself in golden facings.   

Shine circumgloriously throughout  
The universe, and let thy tresses  
Be hung with Diamonds all about:  
Show Earth a wonder in heavens' dresses.   

So shall a day of joy be shown,  
By the brisk masking of thy beauty:  
Although to All the cause not known  
Why so thou shinest; it's but thy duty   

To keep, this day, a Revelling  
throughout thy Azure Territories;  
Whilst Angels come a-gossiping,  
Crowning the earth with equal glories,   

Bright Sun, this is thy Wedding-day:  
The Nightly Ladies soft-foot Teem  
Will meet thee in a starry way,  
Whilst Thou art King, and She thy Queen.   

Matching and making Pairs is Heaven,  
To keep on Earth Society:  
Judge by this Heaven, that Heaven hath given;  
Here God and Man a couple lie.   

A high-born Festival is this;  
The Last the Greatest kept it seems.  
Twelf-day the highest Number is;  
We'll crown it with crowned Kings and Queens.   

And since our joys can mount no higher  
〈◊〉 Sight, they shall in Faith. Then rear  
Each winged soul, made to admire  
The Festivals kept there and here.   

●ut what the Babe hath, look; he lies  
●ucking his food through pipes of Cherries.   
FINIS.