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Christmas Poetry |
Christ's Nativity
By Henry Vaughan
(1621-1695) I Awake, glad heart! Get up and
sing,
It is the birthday of thy King, Awake! Awake! The sun doth shake Light from his locks, and all the way Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day. Awake, awake! Hark, how the wood rings, Winds whisper, and the busy springs A consort make; Awake, awake! Man is their high-priest, and should rise To offer up the sacrifice. I would I were some bird or star, Fluttering in woods, or lifted far Above this inn And road of sin! Then either star, or bird, should be Shining, or singing still to Thee. I would I had in my best part Fit rooms for Thee! Or that my heart Were so clean as Thy manger was! But I am all filth, and obscene, Yet if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean. Sweet Jesu! will then; Let no more This leper haunt, and soil Thy door, Curse him, ease him O release him! And let once more by mystic birth The Lord of life be born in earth. II
How kind is
heaven to man! If here
One sinner doth amend Straight there is joy, and every sphere In music doth contend; And shall we then no voices lift? Are mercy, and salvation Not worth our thanks? Is life a gift Of no more acceptation? Shall He that did come down from thence, And here for us was slain, Shall He be now cast off? No sense Of all His woes remain? Can neither Love, nor sufferings bind? Are we all stone, and earth? Neither His bloody passions mind, Nor one day bless His birth? Alas, my God! Thy birth now here Must not be numbered in the year.
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