Part 93 (1/2)

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 Phnix from His own chaste fire.

99. G.o.d'S PARDON.

When I shall sin, pardon my trespa.s.s here; For once in h.e.l.l, none knows remission there.

100. SIN.

Sin once reached up to G.o.d'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.

3. Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek Him in the morning's blus.h.i.+ng cheek, Or search the beds of spices through, To find him out.

_Star._ No, this ye need not do; But only come and see Him rest A Princely Babe in's mother's breast.

_Chor._ He's seen, He's seen! why then a round, Let's kiss the sweet and holy ground; And all rejoice that we have found _A King before conception crown'd_.

4. Come then, come then, and let us bring Unto our pretty Twelfth-tide King, Each one his several offering;

_Chor._ And when night comes, we'll give Him wa.s.sailing; And that His treble honours may be seen, We'll choose Him King, and make His mother Queen.

103. TO G.o.d.

With golden censers, and with incense, here Before Thy virgin-altar I appear, To pay Thee that I owe, since what I see In, or without, all, all belongs to Thee.

Where shall I now begin to make, for one Least loan of Thine, half rest.i.tution?

Alas! I cannot pay a jot; therefore I'll kiss the tally, and confess the score.

Ten thousand talents lent me, Thou dost write; 'Tis true, my G.o.d, but I can't pay one mite.

_Tally_, the record of his score or debt.

104. TO HIS DEAR G.o.d.

I'll hope no more For things that will not come; And if they do, they prove but c.u.mbersome.