Sing heaven imperial, most of height, Regions of air make harmony; All fish in floud, and fowl of flight, Be mirthful and make melody; All Gloria in Excelsis cry, Heaven, earth, sea, man, bird, and beast, He that is crowned above the sky. _Pro nobis Puer natus est._ WILLIAM DUNBAR [31] Many. 23. THE BURNING BABE As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear. Who scorched with exceeding heat such floods of tears did shed, As though His floods should quench His flames with what His tears were fed; Alas, quoth He, but newly born in fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I. My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns, Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals; The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls; For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood: With this He vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away, And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day. ROBERT SOUTHWELL 24. NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP Behold a silly tender Babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies, Alas! a piteous sight. The inns are full, no man will yield This little Pilgrim bed; But forced He is with silly beasts In crib to shroud His head. Despise Him not for lying there, First what He is inquire; An orient pearl is often found In depth of dirty mire. Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, Nor beast that by Him feed; Weigh not His mother’s poor attire, Nor Joseph’s simple weed. This stable is a prince’s court, This crib His chair of state; The beasts are parcel of His pomp, The wooden dish His plate. The persons in that poor attire His royal liveries wear; The Prince Himself is come from heaven This pomp is prizèd there. With joy approach, O Christian wight! Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp Which He from heaven doth bring. ROBERT SOUTHWELL 25. NEW HEAVEN, NEW WAR Come to your heaven, you heavenly quires! Earth hath the heaven of your desires: Remove your dwelling to your God, A stall is now His best abode; Sith men their homage do deny, Come, angels, all their faults supply.