The Ox he openeth wide the Doore And from the Snowe he calls her inne, And he hath seen her smile therefore, Our Ladye without Sinne. Now soone from Sleepe A Starre shall leap, And soone arrive both King and Hinde; Amen, Amen: But oh, the place co’d I but finde! The Ox hath husht his voyce and bent Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow, And on his lovelie Neck, forspent, The Blessed lays her Browe. Around her feet Full Warme and Sweete His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell; Amen, Amen: But sore am I with Vaine Travèl! The Ox is host in Juda’s stall, And Host of more than onelie one, For close she gathereth withal Our Lorde her littel Sonne. Glad Hinde and King Their Gyfte may bring, But wo’d to-night my Teares were there, Amen, Amen: Between her Bosom and His hayre!
Tryste Noël
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