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I BRING YOU TYDYNGS OF GLADNESSE, AS GABRYEL ME BERYTH WETNESSE
  
  
  
  
  
  
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71

I BRING YOU TYDYNGS OF GLADNESSE, AS GABRYEL ME BERYTH WETNESSE

Tie up the scarlet holly with the green,
Triumphant laurel and pale mistletoe:
Bedeck the board with linen sweet and clean;
Heap high the crackling fire, shut out the snow:
Let willing hands the generous feast prepare,
Whilst many a brave song bars the door on care!
Ah! but forget not Him, That came this day,
And in a careless world scant welcome found:
The Kings of kings, round Whom no courtiers pay
Their eager homage, no majestic sound
Of royal music heralds His estate;
The God of gods, on Whom no glories wait!
Forget not Him: forget not that poor bed
Of rustling straw, the chill December air,
The lowing cattle huddled in their shed,
The flick'ring gleam on floor and rafter bare:
O God, O God, in how forlorn a plight
Our sins have set Thee this devoted night!
Forlorn? Devoted? nay, Thou hast not willed
Here in Thy weakness we should sore bewail Thee:
With dance, and song, and bounteous homestead filled,
This natal hour more fitly may we hail Thee!
That men should grieve, our griefs Thou hast not borne:
Awake, give thanks, shout, World, for joy this morn!