Thalia Rediviva The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan] |
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The Nativity.
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 | Thalia Rediviva |  |
The Nativity.
Peace? and to all the world? sure, one
And he the prince of peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more agen.
Poor Galile! thou can'st not be
The place for his Nativity.
His restless mother's call'd away,
And not deliver'd, till she pay.
And he the prince of peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more agen.
Poor Galile! thou can'st not be
The place for his Nativity.
His restless mother's call'd away,
And not deliver'd, till she pay.
A Tax? 'tis so still! we can see
The Church thrive in her misery;
And like her head at Bethlem, rise
When she opprest with troubles, lyes.
Rise? should all fall, we cannot be
In more extremities than he.
Great Type of passions! come what will,
Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
Thou cam'st from heav'n to earth, that we
Might go from Earth to Heav'n with thee.
And though thou found'st no welcom here,
Thou did'st provide us mansions there.
A stable was thy Court, and when
Men turn'd to beasts; Beasts would be Men.
They were thy Courtiers, others none;
And their poor Manger was thy Throne.
No swadling silks thy Limbs did fold,
Though thou could'st turn thy Rags to gold.
No Rockers waited on thy birth,
No Cradles stirr'd: nor songs of mirth;
But her chast Lap and sacred Brest
Which lodg'd thee first, did give thee rest.
The Church thrive in her misery;
And like her head at Bethlem, rise
When she opprest with troubles, lyes.
Rise? should all fall, we cannot be
In more extremities than he.
Great Type of passions! come what will,
Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
Thou cam'st from heav'n to earth, that we
Might go from Earth to Heav'n with thee.
And though thou found'st no welcom here,
Thou did'st provide us mansions there.
A stable was thy Court, and when
Men turn'd to beasts; Beasts would be Men.
They were thy Courtiers, others none;
And their poor Manger was thy Throne.
No swadling silks thy Limbs did fold,
Though thou could'st turn thy Rags to gold.
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No Cradles stirr'd: nor songs of mirth;
But her chast Lap and sacred Brest
Which lodg'd thee first, did give thee rest.
But stay: what light is that doth stream,
And drop here in a gilded beam?
It is thy Star runs page, and brings
Thy tributary Eastern Kings.
Lord! grant some Light to us, that we
May with them find the way to thee.
Behold what mists eclipse the day:
How dark it is! shed down one Ray
To guide us out of this sad night,
And say once more, Let there be Light.
And drop here in a gilded beam?
It is thy Star runs page, and brings
Thy tributary Eastern Kings.
Lord! grant some Light to us, that we
May with them find the way to thee.
Behold what mists eclipse the day:
How dark it is! shed down one Ray
To guide us out of this sad night,
And say once more, Let there be Light.
| Thalia Rediviva | |