Of which that Golden eye which clears the skies Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow light! And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight, Wild creátures in whose warm crib now lies That heaven-sent youngling, holy maid-born wight, 'Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies! Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread! Though withered, blessed grass, that hath the grace To deck and be a carpet to that place! Thus sang unto the sounds of oaten reed, Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees; And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees. DRUMMOND. THE ANGELS. RUN, shepherds, run where Bethle hem blest appears. We bring the best of news; be not dismayed: A Saviour there is born more old than years, Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed. In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid A weakling did him bear, who all upbears; There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid, To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres: Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth. This is that night-no, day, grown great with bliss, In which the power of Satan broken is: In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth! Thus singing, through the air the angels swarm, And cope of stars re-echoed the |