Of which that Golden eye which clears the skies

Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow light! And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight, Wild creátures 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 dropped from trees.

DRUMMOND.

THE ANGELS.

RUN, shepherds, run where Bethle hem blest appears.

We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:

A Saviour there is born more old than years,

Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid

A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;

There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,

To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:

Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.

This is that night-no, day, grown great with bliss,

In which the power of Satan broken is:

In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!

Thus singing, through the air the angels swarm,

And cope of stars re-echoed the