Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof; Under the sparres of which I lie Both soft and drie; Where Thou my chamber for to ward Has set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my Fate, Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my doore Is worn by th’ poore, Who thither come, and freely get Good words or meat. Like as my Parlour, so my hall And Kitchen’s small: A little Buttery, and therein A little Byn Which keeps my little Loafe of Bread Unchipt, unflead: Some little sticks of Thorne or Briar Making a fire, Close by whose living fire I sit And glow like it. Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The Pulse is Thine, And all those other bits, that bee There plac’d by Thee; The Worts, the Purslaine, and the Messe Of Water-cresse, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent; And my content Makes those, and my beloved Beet To be more sweet. ’Tis thou that crownst my glittering Hearth With guiltlesse mirth; And giv’st me Wassaile Bowles to drink, Spic’d to the brink. Lord,’tis Thy plenty-dropping Hand That soiles my land; And giv’st me, for my Bushell sowne, Twice ten for one: Thou mak’st my teaming Hen to lay Her egg each day: Besides my healthful Ewes to beare Me twins each year. The while the conduits of my kine Run creame (for Wine). All these, and better Thou doest send Me, to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart, Which, fired with incense, I resigne, As wholly Thine; But the acceptance, that must be, My Christ to Thee. And now let me ask the reader to note the following triplet, which occurs in a Christmas Anthem in _Noble Numbers_:— We see Him come and know Him ours, Who with His sunshine and His showers Turns all the patient earth to flowers.