Another New-Year's Gift: Or, Song For The Circumcision.

1. Hence, hence profane, and none appear
        With anything unhallowed here;
        No jot of leaven must be found
        Conceal'd in this most holy ground.

2. What is corrupt, or sour'd with sin,
        Leave that without, then enter in;

Chor. But let no Christmas mirth begin
        Before ye purge and circumcise
        Your hearts, and hands, lips, ears, and eyes.

3. Then, like a perfum'd altar, see
        That all things sweet and clean may be:
        For here's a Babe that, like a bride,
        Will blush to death if ought be spi'd
        Ill-scenting, or unpurifi'd.

Chor. The room is 'cens'd: help, help t' invoke
        Heaven to come down, the while we choke
        The temple with a cloud of smoke.

4. Come then, and gently touch the birth
        Of Him, who's Lord of Heaven and Earth:

5. And softly handle Him; y'ad need,
        Because the pretty Babe does bleed.
        Poor pitied Child! who from Thy stall
        Bring'st, in Thy blood, a balm that shall
        Be the best New-Year's gift to all.

1. Let's bless the Babe: and, as we sing
        His praise, so let us bless the King.

Chor. Long may He live till He hath told
        His New-Years trebled to His old:
        And when that's done, to re-aspire
A new-born Ph[oe]nix from His own chaste fire.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

Virtue Is Sensible Of Suffering.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

His Last Request To Julia

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Rush.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Another. (Sin.)

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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The New-Year's Gift: Or, Circumcision's Song. Sung To The King In The Presence At Whitehall.

1. Prepare for songs; He's come, He's come;
        And be it sin here to be dumb,
        And not with lutes to fill the room.

2. Cast holy water all about,
        And have a care no fire goes out,
        But 'cense the porch and place throughout.

3. The altars all on fire be;
        The storax fries; and ye may see
        How heart and hand do all agree
To make things sweet. Chor. Yet all less sweet than He.

4. Bring Him along, most pious priest,
        And tell us then, whenas thou seest
        His gently-gliding, dove-like eyes,
        And hear'st His whimpering and His cries;
        How can'st thou this Babe circumcise?

5. Ye must not be more pitiful than wise;
        For, now unless ye see Him bleed,
        W...

Robert Herrick

A Carol Presented To Dr. Williams, Bishop Of Lincoln As A New-Year's Gift.

Fly hence, pale care, no more remember
Past sorrows with the fled December,
But let each pleasant cheek appear
Smooth as the childhood of the year,
    And sing a carol here.
'Twas brave, 'twas brave, could we command the hand
Of youth's swift watch to stand
As you have done your day;
Then should we not decay.
But all we wither, and our light
Is spilt in everlasting night,
Whenas your sight
Shows like the heavens above the moon,
Like an eternal noon
That sees no setting sun.

Keep up those flames, and though you shroud
Awhile your forehead in a cloud,
Do it like the sun to write
In the air a greater text of light;
Welcome to all our vows,
And since you pay
To us this day
So long desir'd,
See we have fir'd
Our holy s...

Robert Herrick

An Ode Of The Birth Of Our Saviour

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, oh JESU!
Thou pretty Baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers;
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else,
But, here, a homely manger.

But we with silks, not cruels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress thee;
And as we dispossess thee
Of cloths, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee,
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.

The Jews, they did disdain thee;
But we will entertain thee
With glories to aw...

Robert Herrick

An Ode Of The Birth Of Our Saviour.

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, O JESU!
Thou pretty baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for Thy princely port here,
    Hadst for Thy place
    Of birth a base
Out-stable for Thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,
    As Gospel tells,
    Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.

But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress Thee;
And as we dispossess Thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
    Sweet babe, for Thee
    Of ivory,
And plaister'd round with amber.

The Jews they did disdain Thee,
But we will entertain Thee

Robert Herrick

A New Years' Gift Sent To Sir Simeon Steward

No news of navies burnt at seas;
No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;
No closet plot or open vent,
That frights men with a Parliament:
No new device or late-found trick,
To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the State, or wring
The free-born nostril of the King,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly;
That tells of winter's tales and mirth
That milk-maids make about the hearth;
Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,
That toss'd up, after Fox-i'-th'-hole;
Of Blind-man-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the Mare;
Of twelf-tide cakes, of pease and beans,
Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye chuse your king and queen,
And cry out, 'Hey for our town green!'
Of ash-heaps,...

Robert Herrick

Christmas Carols.

1.

Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest,
Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee,
Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest,
Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea.

Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying,
Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest,
Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying,
"Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best."


2.

A holy, heavenly chime
Rings fulness in of time,
And on His Mother's breast
Our Lord God ever-Blest
Is laid a Babe at rest.

Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop,
Swoop, Angels, flying swoop,
Adoring as you gaze,
Uplifting hymns of praise, -
"Grace to the Full of Grace!"

The cave is cold and strait
T...

Christina Georgina Rossetti