Thus with Earth’s humblest brothering thy estate,
    Thus to Earth’s mightiest giving meek example,
  The lowly Thou exaltest to be great,
    The proud thou teachest on their pride to trample. 
  So, turning poor men rich and rich men poor,
  For each Thou makest his salvation sure.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL OF THE EPIPHANY

  Now who are these who from afar
  Follow yon solitary star? 
  Whence journey they and what the quest
  That turns their faces towards the west?

  Three Kings are they and Mages three,
  Who in their camel company,
  With offerings rich, still onward press,
  Across the wintry wilderness.

  Nine months agone, Isaiah’s page
  They pondered o’er with questioning sage,
  When underneath their wondering eyes
  His words were altered in this wise: 

  “Behold a Virgin hath conceived!”
  They saw, and marvelled, and believed,
  And hasted forth upon the morn
  To greet the King that should be born.

  Afar they fared by land and flood,
  The while they saw, with bounding blood,
  A star that did all stars exceed
  In wonder still their footsteps lead.

  Until, amid the falling snow,
  They found the Highest laid most low;
  His palace but a cattle shed,
  A manger for His princely bed.

  And there they bent with holy joy
  And hope before the new-born Boy;
  And opened, at His infant feet,
  Their royal offerings rich and sweet.

A FOURTEENTH-CENTURY CAROL

  When God came down on Earth to dwell,
      Great cold befell: 
  Yet Mary on the road hath seen
      A fig-tree green. 
  Said Joseph:  “O Mary, let the fruit hang;
  For thirty good mile we have still to gang,
      Lest we be late!”

  When Mary unto a village door
      At last did win,
  She thus bespake the cottager: 
      “Sir, take us in! 
  Since for this young Child’s tender sake
  A pitying heart must surely ache,
      The night’s so cold.”

  “You’re welcome all to my ox-stall!”
      The good man cried. 
  But in the middle of the night
      He rose and sighed: 
  “Where are ye now, poor hapless ones? 
  That ye’re not frozen to the bones,
      I marvel much.”

  Then back into his house he runs
      From forth the byre—­
  “Rouse up, rouse up, my dearest wife,
      And light a fire,
  As fine as ever sent up smoke,
  Whereat these poor and perishing folk
      May comfort them.”

  Mary with joy into the house
      The Babe has brought,
  Joseph her just and faithful spouse,
      His wallet sought. 
  Therefrom he took a kettle small;
  Some snow the Child therein let fall,
    And lo ’tis flour!

  Thereto the Babe has added ice;
    ’Tis sugar straight! 
  Now water drops, and, in a trice,
    ’Tis milk most sweet! 
  The kettle, fast as you could look,
  They hung upon the kitchen hook
    A meal to cook.