Part 3 — HYMN.

It was the winter wild While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him Has doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around; The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hookèd chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began; The winds with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kissed Whispering new joys to the mild ocean— Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. The stars with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering And Heaven, as at some festival Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

But wisest Fate says no; This must not yet be so; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorify; Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending; Heaven's youngest-teemèd star Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. John Milton. A Selection.