"I have found it, even I," _Ye that are lowly, sing 'Nowell'!_ "The secret of this alchemy!" _Ye that are poor, a 'Gloria.'_ "Look, your tinsel turneth to gold." _Sing 'Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!'_ "Your dust to a hand for love to hold!" _In Excelsis Gloria._ "Lay the axe at my young stem now!" _Woodman, woodman, sing 'Nowell.'_ "Set a star on every bough!" _In Excelsis Gloria!_ "Hall and cot shall see me stand," _Rich and poor man, sing 'Nowell'!_ "Giver of gifts from Elfin-land." _Oberon, answer 'Gloria.'_ "Hung by the hilt on your Christmas-tree" _Little children, sing 'Nowell'!_ "Your wooden sword is a cross for me." _Emperors, a 'Gloria.'_ "I have found that fabulous stone" _Ocean-worthies, cry 'Nowell.'_ "Which turneth all things into one," _Wise men all, a 'Gloria.'_ "It is not ruby nor anything" _Jeweller, jeweller, sing 'Nowell'!_ "Fit for the crown of an earthly King:" _In Excelsis Gloria!_ "It is not here! It is not there!" _Traveller, rest and cry 'Nowell'!_ "It is one thing and everywhere!" _Heaven and Earth sing 'Gloria.'_ "It is the earth, the moon, the sun," _Mote in the sunbeam, sing 'Nowell'!_ "And all the stars that march as one." _In Excelsis Gloria!_ "Here, by the touch of it, I can see" _Sing, O Life, a sweet Nowell!_ "The world's King die on a Christmas-tree." _Answer, Death, with 'Gloria.'_ "Here, not set in a realm apart," _East and West are one 'Nowell'!_ "Holy Land is in your Heart!" _North and South one 'Gloria'!_ "Death is a birth, birth is a death," _Love is all, O sing 'Nowell'!_ "And London one with Nazareth." _And all the World a 'Gloria.'_ "And angels over your heart's roof sing" _Birds of God, O pour 'Nowell'!_ "That a poor man's son is the Son of a King!" _Out of your heart this 'Gloria'!_ "Round the world you'll not away" _In your own soul, they sing 'Nowell'!_ "From Holy Land this Christmas Day!" _In your own soul, this 'Gloria.'_ LAVENDER Lavender, lavender That makes your linen sweet; The hawker brings his basket Down the sooty street: The dirty doors and pavements Are simmering in the heat: He brings a dream to London, And drags his weary feet. Lavender, lavender, From where the bee hums, To the loud roar of London, With purple dreams he comes, From ragged lanes of wild-flowers To ragged London slums, With a basket full of lavender And purple dreams he comes. Is it nought to you that hear him? With the old strange cry The weary hawker passes, And some will come and buy, And some will let him pass away And only heave a sigh, But most will neither heed nor hear When dreams go by.