Dark with excessive bright.
It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.