But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, So must he sip and think

Of better drink

He may attain to after he is dead.

Yet ev'n the greatest griefs

May be reliefs,

Could he but take them right and in their ways. Happy is he whose heart

Hath found the art

To turn his double pains to double praise.

GEORGE HERBERT.

EQUALITY

More state and dignity may be in this than in Herbert's verse, but perhaps not so much impulse and passion.

THE glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against Fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield:
They tame but one another still:

Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow:

Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now

See where the Victor-Victim bleeds!
Your heads must come

To the cold tomb:

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

JAMES SHIRLEY.

A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY

SUNG BY THE SHEPHERDS

The Nativity of Christ was the subject of painting in all the great ages of Continental art. But it has not been so often dear to English poets. Crashaw, one of the greatest poets of the seventeenth century, has in perfection all the sweetness, the beauty, and the rather excessive love of decorative fancy that mark his age.

Chorus

COME, we shepherds whose blest sight
Hath met Love's noon in Nature's night;
Come lift we up our loftier song,
And wake the sun that lies too long.
To all our world of well-stol'n joy

He slept, and dreamt of no such thing,

While we found out Heav'ns fairer eye,
And kissed the cradle of our King;
Tell him he rises now too late

To show us aught worth looking at.

Tell him we now can show him more
Than he e'er showed to mortal sight,
Than he himself e'er saw before,

Which to be seen needs not his light:
Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been,
Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

Tityrus

Gloomy night embraced the place
Where the noble infant lay:

The babe looked up, and showed His face ;
In spite of darkness it was day.

It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise,
Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.

Chorus. It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise,
Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.

Thyrsis

Winter chid aloud, and sent

The angry North to wage his wars: The North forgot his fierce intent,

And left perfumes instead of scars. By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, Where he meant frosts he scattered flowers.

Chorus. By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, Where he meant frosts he scattered flowers.

Both

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Young dawn of our eternal day;
We saw Thine eyes break from the East,
And chase the trembling shades away:
We saw Thee, and we blest the sight,
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

Tityrus

Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do
To entertain this starry stranger ?
Is this the best thou canst bestow-

A cold and not too cleanly manger?
Contend the powers of heaven and earth,
To fit a bed for this huge birth.

Chorus. Contend the powers of heaven and earth To fit a bed for this huge birth.

Thyrsis

Proud world, said I, cease your contest,
And let the mighty babe alone,
The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest,

Love's architecture is his own.

The babe whose birth embraves this morn,
Made His own bed ere He was born.

Chorus. The babe, whose birth embraves this morn, Made His own bed ere He was born.

Tityrus

I saw the curled drops, soft and slow,
Come hovering o'er the place's head,
Off'ring their whitest sheets of snow,
To furnish the fair infant's bed.
Forbear, said I, be not too bold,
Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold.

Thyrsis

I saw th' obsequious seraphim

Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, For well they now can spare their wings, Since Heaven itself lies here below. Well done, said I; but are you sure Your down, so warm, will pass for pure? Chorus. Well done, said I; but are you sure Your down, so warm, will pass for pure?

Both

No, no, your King's not yet to seek
Where to repose His royal head;
See, see how soon His new-bloomed cheek
'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed.
Sweet choice, said we; no way but so,
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow!

Chorus. Sweet choice, said we; no way but so,
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow!

Full Chorus

Welcome all wonders in one sight!

Eternity shut in a span!

Summer in winter! day in night!