Rise, shepherd, nor delay, 'Tis God who summons thee, Hasten with zeal away Thy Saviour's self to see. The Lord of Hosts hath shown That since this glorious birth, War shall be no more known, But peace shall reign on earth. The shepherds, however, are not very willing to be disturbed: "Let me sleep! Let me sleep!" says one of them, and another goes so far as to threaten to drive away the angel if he does not let them alone. "Come and render homage to the new-born babe," sings the angel, "and cease to complain of your happy lot." They answer: A happy lot We never yet possest, A happy lot For us poor shepherd folk existeth not; Then wherefore utter the strange jest That by an infant's birth we shall be blest With happy lot? The shepherds begin to bestir themselves. One says that he feels overcome with fear at the sound of so much noise and commotion. The angel responds, "Come without fear; do not hesitate, but redouble your speed. It is in this village, in a poor place, near yonder wood, that you may see the Infant Lord." Another of the shepherds, who seems to have only just woke up, inquires: What do you say? This to believe what soul is able; What do you say? Where do these shepherds speed away? To see their God within a stable: This surely seems an idle fable; What do you say? "To understand how it is, go and behold with your own eyes," replies the angel; to which the shepherd answers, "Good morrow, angel; pardon me if I have spoken lightly; I will go and see what is going on." Another, still not quite easy in his mind, observes that he cannot make out what the angel says, because he speaks in such a strange tongue. The angel immediately replies in excellent Gascon patois: Come, shepherds, come From your mountain home, Come, see the Saviour in a stable born, This happy morn. Come, shepherds, come, Let none remain behind, Come see the wretched sinners' friend, The Saviour of mankind.