Men-Miracles With other Poemes. By M. LL. St [i.e.Martin Lluelyn] |
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Caroll, Sung to His Majesty on Christmas Day, 1644.
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 | Men-Miracles |  |
Caroll, Sung to His Majesty on Christmas Day, 1644.
Harke!
harke! the Spheares inticeing notes,
The Orbes are strung againe.
Intelligences tune the skie;
And make their Journey Harmonie.
The Cherubims exalt their throats,
And all their Musicke straine:
The Angels cluster,
Their Voices muster:
And in their Severall Orders crowd,
Amaz'd to see
The Deitie
Disguis'd and mask'd in a fraile shrowd.
The Orbes are strung againe.
Intelligences tune the skie;
And make their Journey Harmonie.
The Cherubims exalt their throats,
And all their Musicke straine:
The Angels cluster,
Their Voices muster:
And in their Severall Orders crowd,
Amaz'd to see
The Deitie
Disguis'd and mask'd in a fraile shrowd.
The Sea into a droppe is throwne,
And channell'd in a Span.
Eternity is par'd away.
Confin'd and thrust into a Day.
To Infinite a Shore is knowne,
It limits hath in Man,
He that first brings
Time to his Sithe and Wings:
Subscribes to both, and hath made hast
To shift him cleane,
And change the Scene,
To know Begun, to Come, and Past.
And channell'd in a Span.
Eternity is par'd away.
Confin'd and thrust into a Day.
To Infinite a Shore is knowne,
It limits hath in Man,
He that first brings
Time to his Sithe and Wings:
144
To shift him cleane,
And change the Scene,
To know Begun, to Come, and Past.
No fond Imaginary Birth,
No sly Phantasticke show,
No Aery shape, no empty Beames,
Like Marcion's franticke Dreames.
A serious Issue visits earth,
Where Veines and sinewes grow,
True flesh is bred,
Nerves, bones, oth' same thread:
A Reall Peice, that we may see,
Since all Parts come,
From the same loome,
Salvation is not Pageantry.
No sly Phantasticke show,
No Aery shape, no empty Beames,
Like Marcion's franticke Dreames.
A serious Issue visits earth,
Where Veines and sinewes grow,
True flesh is bred,
Nerves, bones, oth' same thread:
A Reall Peice, that we may see,
Since all Parts come,
From the same loome,
Salvation is not Pageantry.
See! him a Giddy Rout hath found,
And by his Cradle past,
The Oxe and Asse his family.
His Traine, and his Retinue be:
And this descri'd, they now have bound
Him to his Manger fast:
They fixe and chaine
Him to his Inne againe.
His Altars sinke, his Temples ly,
They trimme and presse
In the same Dresse,
His Worship and Nativity.
And by his Cradle past,
The Oxe and Asse his family.
His Traine, and his Retinue be:
And this descri'd, they now have bound
Him to his Manger fast:
They fixe and chaine
Him to his Inne againe.
145
They trimme and presse
In the same Dresse,
His Worship and Nativity.
Assist, assist his Rescue then,
'Gainst Sacrilegious men,
And may those dayes which have in Clouds beene spent,
Cleare up, and boast both his and your ascent.
'Gainst Sacrilegious men,
And may those dayes which have in Clouds beene spent,
Cleare up, and boast both his and your ascent.
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