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Çàðàç íà ñàéò³ - 3
Ïîøóê

Ïåðåâ³ðêà ðîçì³ðó




Robert Southwell

Ïðî÷èòàíèé : 116


Òâîð÷³ñòü | Á³îãðàô³ÿ | Êðèòèêà

The Nativity of Christ

Behold  the  father  is  his  daughter's  son,
The  bird  that  built  the  nest  is  hatch'd  therein,
The  old  of  years  an  hour  hath  not  outrun,
Eternal  life  to  live  doth  now  begin,
The  word  is  dumb,  the  mirth  of  heaven  doth  weep,
Might  feeble  is,  and  force  doth  faintly  creep.

O  dying  souls!  behold  your  living  spring!
O  dazzled  eyes!  behold  your  sun  of  grace!
Dull  ears  attend  what  word  this  word  doth  bring!
Up,  heavy  hearts,  with  joy  your  joy  embrace!
From  death,  from  dark,  from  deafness,  from  despairs,
This  life,  this  light,  this  word,  this  joy  repairs.

Gift  better  than  Himself  God  doth  not  know,
Gift  better  than  his  God  no  man  can  see;
This  gift  doth  here  the  giver  given  bestow,
Gift  to  this  gift  let  each  receiver  be:
God  is  my  gift,  Himself  He  freely  gave  me,
God's  gift  am  I,  and  none  but  God  shall  have  me.

Man  alter'd  was  by  sin  from  man  to  beast;
Beast's  food  is  hay,  hay  is  all  mortal  flesh;
Now  God  is  flesh,  and  lies  in  manger  press'd,
As  hay  the  brutest  sinner  to  refresh:
Oh  happy  field  wherein  this  fodder  grew,
Whose  taste  doth  us  from  beasts  to  men  renew!


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