It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.

Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.

Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.

Imparadis'd in one another's arms.

And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?

But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

Herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.