RICHARD CRASHAW

She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries The points of her young eagle's eyes.

Welcome tho' not to those gay flies, Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings,

Slippery souls in smiling eyes

But to poor shepherds, homespun things,

Whose wealth 's their flocks, whose wit 's to be

Well read in their simplicity.

Yet, when young April's husband show'rs Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed,

We'll bring the first-born of her flowers, To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head.

To Thee, dread Lamb ! whose love must keep

The shepherds while they feed their sheep.

To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King Of simple graces and sweet love^ !

Each of us his lamb will bring, Each his pair of silver doves !

At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes,

Ourselves become our own best sacrifice !

��. Christ Crucified

HPHY restless feet now cannot go

• For us and our eternal good,

As they were ever wont. What though They swim, alas ! in their own flood ?

Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift, Yet will Thy hand still giving be ;

It gives, but O, itself 's the gift!

It gives tho' bound, tho' bound 'tis free !

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