Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves His well-beloved imprisonment;
There He hath made Himself to His intent,
Weak enough now into our world to come:
But oh! for thee, for Him, hath th’ inn no room?
Yet lay Him in His stall, and from the orient
Stars and wise men will travel, to prevent
Th’ effect of Herod’s jealous general doom.
See’st thou, my soul! with thy faith’s eyes, how He,
Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie!
Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,
With His kind mother who partakes thy woe.
JOHN DONNE