IT was the Winter wilde,
While the Heavn-born-childe,
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger
Nature in aw to him
Had dofft her gawdy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season
then for her
To wanton with the Sun her lusty Paramour.
Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle Air
To hide her guilty front with innocent Snow,
on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinfull blame,
The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw,
that her Makers eyes
Should look so neer her foul deformities.
But he her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyd Peace,
She crownd with Olive green,
came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphear
His ready Harbinger,
With Turtle wing the amorous
And waving wide her mirtle wand,
She strikes a universall Peace through Sea and Land.
No War, or Battails sound
Was heard the World around,
The idle spear and shield were high
The hookàd Chariot stood
Unstaind with hostile blood,
The Trumpet spake not to the armàd throng,
Kings sate still with awfull eye,
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of light
His raign of peace upon the earth began:
Windes with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kist,
Whispering new joyes to the milde Ocean,
hath quite forgot to rave,
While Birds of Calm sit brooding on the charmàd wave,
The Stars with deep amaze
Stand fixt in stedfast gaze,
Bending one way their pretious influence,
will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warnd them thence;
But in their
glimmering Orbs did glow,
Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The Sun himself with-held his wonted
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferiour flame,
The new enlightnd world no more should need;
saw a greater Sun appear
Then his bright Throne, or burning Axletree could bear.
The Shepherds on the Lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sate simply chatting in a rustick row:
little thought they than,
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly com to live with them below;
Perhaps their loves,
or els their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busie keep.
When such musick sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
As never was by mortall finger
Answering the stringàd noise,
As all their souls in blisfull rapture took.
Air such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echos still prolongs each heavnly close.
Nature that heard such sound
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthias seat, the Airy region
Now was almost won
To think her part was don,
And that her raign had here its last fulfilling;
knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heavn and Earth in happier union.
At last surrounds their sight
A Globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shame-fact
The helmàd Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim,
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid,
in loud and solemn quire,
With unexpressive notes to Heavns new-born Heir.
Such musick (as tis said)
Before was never made,
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
the Creator Great
His constellations set,
And the well-ballanct world on hinges hung,
And cast the dark
And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.
Ring out ye Crystall sphears,
Once bless our human ears,
(If ye have power to touch our
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
And let the Base of Heavns deep Organ
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to thAngelike symphony.
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