1. Touch gently, gently touch; and here Spring tulips up through all the year; And from His sacred blood, here shed, May roses grow to crown His own dear head. _Chor._ Back, back again; each thing is done With zeal alike, as 'twas begun; Now singing, homeward let us carry The Babe unto His mother Mary; And when we have the Child commended To her warm bosom, then our rites are ended. _Composed by M. Henry Lawes._ 98. ANOTHER NEW-YEAR'S GIFT: OR, SONG FOR THE CIRCUMCISION. 1. Hence, hence profane, and none appear With anything unhallowed here; No jot of leaven must be found Conceal'd in this most holy ground. 2. What is corrupt, or sour'd with sin, Leave that without, then enter in; _Chor._ But let no Christmas mirth begin Before ye purge and circumcise Your hearts, and hands, lips, ears, and eyes. 3. Then, like a perfum'd altar, see That all things sweet and clean may be: For here's a Babe that, like a bride, Will blush to death if ought be spi'd Ill-scenting, or unpurifi'd. _Chor._ The room is 'cens'd: help, help t' invoke Heaven to come down, the while we choke The temple with a cloud of smoke. 4. Come then, and gently touch the birth Of Him, who's Lord of Heaven and Earth: 5. And softly handle Him; y'ad need, Because the pretty Babe does bleed. Poor pitied Child! who from Thy stall Bring'st, in Thy blood, a balm that shall Be the best New-Year's gift to all. 1. Let's bless the Babe: and, as we sing His praise, so let us bless the King. _Chor._ Long may He live till He hath told His New-Years trebled to His old: And when that's done, to re-aspire A new-born Phœnix from His own chaste fire. 99. GOD'S PARDON. When I shall sin, pardon my trespass here; For once in hell, none knows remission there. 100. SIN. Sin once reached up to God's eternal sphere, And was committed, not remitted there. 101. EVIL. Evil no nature hath; the loss of good Is that which gives to sin a livelihood. 102. THE STAR-SONG: A CAROL TO THE KING SUNG AT WHITEHALL. _The Flourish of Music; then followed the Song._ 1. Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue, Where is the Babe but lately sprung? Lies he the lily-banks among? 2. Or say, if this new Birth of ours Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers, Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear All doubts, and manifest the where.