A Merry Christmas
To All Readers of 'The Land of Lost Content'
On
Shepherds' Pipes
Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise,
Of which that golden age which clears the skies,
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light:
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born Wight:
Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies:
Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,
Though withered--blessed grass that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place.
Thus sang, unto the sounds, of oaten reed,
Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees,
And springs ran nectar, honey dropt from trees.
Of which that golden age which clears the skies,
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light:
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born Wight:
Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies:
Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,
Though withered--blessed grass that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place.
Thus sang, unto the sounds, of oaten reed,
Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees,
And springs ran nectar, honey dropt from trees.
William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585-1649)
SEASONS GREETINGS
ReplyDeleteThank you greatly for taking the time and effort to share your love of music with us.
Your generosity is very much appreciated.
A multitude of knowledge that has been gained through exposure to your blogspot.
Thank you.
All the very best for 2017 from the "Land of Lost Content".
Cheers,
Douglas (UK)
Douglas
ReplyDeleteThanks for your most kind word!
J