Why does the frowning winter smile
And check his fierce intent?
Why does he curb his ruffling powers,
As he for snow would sprinkle flowers?
There is a reason for this guile,
’Twas but to pay his rent:
It is the best that Huff-capp gives
At the great birth
Of publicke mirth,
And pay’d, no longer lives.
The Babe unveils His lovely face
To chase the shades away;
As soon as He casts up His eyes
A sudden brightness will arise
To gild the room does Him embrace;
In spite of clouds ’tis Day.
Lodg’d in His mother’s bosom He
May sleep in snow,
(Without cold tho’)
For down from cold is free.
Be not amazèd, souls, for this
Is but the half of Joy;
The Angels spare their nimble wings,
For now they’re but superfluous things;
To men, since Heaven descended is
Contracted in a Boy.
The Rose of Sharon’s budded now
And every thing
Portends a spring.
December snows adieu:
Adieu, but stay: a Subject prov’d a Ring,
Presents as great, as splendid, offering.
My breast’s the mine whence golden precepts rise,
Myrrh drops in bitter tears from virgin eyes.
Frankincense, praise’s furnish’d with desert
Offered upon no altar but my heart,
This reinvites my God unto my breast
And spreads the table for the welcome guest.
Tho’ gold, myrrh, frankincense, kings off’red Thee,
Thou’st frankincense, with gold and myrrh from me.
If these shrink in performance, at Thy eyes
I’ll trine my selfe and prove Thy sacrifice.
J. M.