To a Lady, LXXXV

When Christ, our Lord, was born of old, An angel choir his coming told; And from the manger where he lay, All up along the starry way, Were seraphs set, and watchwords given, To pass the story up to Heaven. And so in sooth, they stand as well, Though not to mortals visible, Where’er the Church’s anthems rise, To waft our homage to the skies. Oh then, how blest each festal morn, When Christ arose, when Christ was born, And who but loves thee, Easter-day, Queen of old feasts, so bright, so gay, So dear to every Christian soul, O’er all the Earth, from pole to pole!