Смотрите! Нежное Дитя, от холода дрожа,
Уснуло в яслях... Ночь вокруг по-зимнему свежа....
Гостиницы полны — нигде ночлега не дают!
Среди животных Он обрёл защиту и приют.
Исследуй дело — презирать Младенца погоди!
Находим часто жемчуг мы трясины посреди.
Не важно, что среди скота Он в яслях должен спать,
Что в рубище Иосиф, что в простой одежде Мать.
Тот хлев — Палаты! Ясли — трон. И блюдо - в серебре.
А скот - вельможи: торжество сегодня при дворе.
Нет бедняков — глаза слепит их царственный наряд!
Сам Царь из Рая снизошёл, воспет, прославлен, свят.
Приди к Нему, христианин, за всё благодаря!
И помни роскошь в нищете Небесного Царя.
New Prince, New Pomp
by Robert Southwell
Behold a silly tender Babe, in freezing winter night;
In homely manger trembling lies, alas a piteous sight:
The inns are full, no man will yield this little Pilgrim bed,
But forced He is with silly beasts, in crib to shroud His head.
Despise Him not for lying there, first what He is enquire:
An orient pearl is often found, in depth of dirty mire;
Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, nor beasts that by Him feed:
Weigh not His mother's poor attire, nor Joseph's simple weed.
This stable is a Prince's court, the crib His chair of state:
The beasts are parcel of His pomp, the wooden dish His plate.
The persons in that poor attire, His royal liveries wear,
The Prince Himself is come from heaven, this pomp is prized there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight, do homage to thy King,
And highly prize this humble pomp, which He from heaven doth bring.