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Another New-year’s Gift: Or, Song For the Circumcision
1. Hence, hence profane, and none appear
With anything unhallowed here;
No jot of leaven must be found
Conceal’d in this most holy ground.
2. What is corrupt, or sour’d with sin,
Leave that without, then enter in;
Chor. But let no Christmas mirth begin
Before ye purge and circumcise
Your hearts, and hands, lips, ears, and eyes.
3. Then, like a perfum’d altar, see
That all things sweet and clean may be:
For here’s a Babe that, like a bride,
Will blush to death if ought be spi’d
Ill-scenting, or unpurifi’d.
Chor. The room is ‘cens’d: help, help t’ invoke
Heaven to come down, the while we choke
The temple with a cloud of smoke.
4. Come then, and gently touch the birth
Of Him, who’s Lord of Heaven and Earth:
5. And softly handle Him; y’ad need,
Because the pretty Babe does bleed.
Poor pitied Child! who from Thy stall
Bring’st, in Thy blood, a balm that shall
Be the best New–Year’s gift to all.
1. Let’s bless the Babe: and, as we sing
His praise, so let us bless the King.
Chor. Long may He live till He hath told
His New–Years trebled to His old:
And when that’s done, to reaspire
A new-born Phœnix from His own chaste fire.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.