[23] Richard Rolle, poet, mystic, and wandering preacher, in many ways reminds us of Jacopone da Todi. Though he has left no Christmas verses, some lovely words of his show how deeply he felt the wonder and pathos of Bethlehem: "Jhesu es thy name. A! A! that wondryrfull name! A! that delittabyll name! This es the name that es above all names.... I yede [went] abowte be Covaytyse of riches and I fand noghte Jhesu. I satt in companyes of Worldly myrthe and I fand noghte Jhesu.... Therefore I turnede by anothire waye, and I rane a-bowte be Poverte, and I fande Jhesu pure borne in the worlde, laid in a crybe and lappid in clathis."{28} [24] "When midnight sounded I leapt from my bed to the floor, and I saw a beautiful angel who sang a thousand times sweeter than a nightingale. The watch-dogs of the neighbourhood all came up. Never had they seen such a sight, and they suddenly began to bark. The shepherds under the straw were sleeping like logs: when they heard the sound of the barking they thought it was the wolves. They were reasonable folk; they came without waiting to be asked. They found in a little stable the Light, even the Truth." [25] "Within a poor manger and covered with hay lies Jesus of Nazareth. In the hay lies stretched the Eternal Son of God; to deliver from hell man whom He had created, and to kill sin, our Jesus of Nazareth is content with the hay. He rests between two animals who warm Him from the cold, He who remedies our ills with His great power; His kingdom and seigniory are the world and the calm heaven, and now He sleeps in the hay. He counts it good to bear the cold and fare thus, having no robe to protect or cover Him, and to give us life He suffered cold in the hay, our Jesus of Nazareth." [26] "In a porch, full of cobwebs, between the mule and the ox, the Saviour of souls is born.... In the porch at Bethlehem are star, sun, and moon: the Virgin and St. Joseph and the Child who lies in the cradle. In Bethlehem they touch fire, from the porch the flame issues; it is a star of heaven which has fallen into the straw. I am a poor gipsy who come hither from Egypt, and bring to God's Child a cock. I am a poor Galician who come from Galicia, and bring to God's Child linen for a shift. To the new-born Child all bring a gift; I am little and have nothing; I bring him my heart." [27] "Sleep, oh sleep, dear Baby mine, King Divine; Sleep, my Child, in sleep recline; Lullaby, mine Infant fair, Heaven's King, All glittering, Full of grace as lilies rare.