--Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face.
It is a song of the poor in spirit, whose is the kingdom of heaven. But
if my co-listeners prefer, we will call it the voice, not of one who
sings in the choir, but of one who "tunes his instrument at the door."
CHAPTER X.
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT AND DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.
Sir John Beaumont, born in 1582, elder brother to the dramatist who wrote
along with Fletcher, has left amongst his poems a few fine religious
ones. From them I choose the following:
OF THE EPIPHANY.
Fair eastern star, that art ordained to run
Before the sages, to the rising sun,
Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud
Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud:
Ye, heavenly bodies, glory to be bright,
And are esteemed as ye are rich in light;
But here on earth is taught a different way,
Since under this low roof the highest lay.
Jerusalem erects her stately towers,
Displays her windows, and adorns her bowers;
Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark:
Let Herod's palace still continue dark;
Each school and synagogue thy force repels,
There Pride, enthroned in misty errors, dwells;
The temple, where the priests maintain their choir,
Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire,
While this weak cottage all thy splendour takes:
A joyful gate of every chink it makes.
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