Two hymns for the nativity of Christ Whereunto are added, a new-yeers gift, and an hymn for the feast of Twelf-Tide. The music part being set by Mr. R.M.

Another.

NOt yet arriv'd, swift Post of Day! Into the Stars thy Chariot Is driven, or else another way Turn'd; so the neerest way forgot. Thou flying Day, thou winged Car, Thou art out-gone by a Foot-post Star, Which shin'd a Sun, and had such streams, As led us to the Son of beams.

A gross Mistake! the Sun's awake, And dances on the Ocean; Now draws his streams from off the Lake, And to the Earth's in motion. Thus are we cozened with a fine Mistake; The Sun's long rose, we new awake. Vollies of voice both strong and loud We'll sing, till he's wrapt in his Cloud.

Glory hath chang'd seats with the high And mighty Majestie of Heaven: For, in this little Majestie, Is perfect God to the Earth given. Thus God above here made a bed For God belowe to lay his head.

Eternal vast Eternity Heaven doth this day afford the Earth. Welcome, sweet Span of endless glory! Angels and we thus sound thy Birth.

Since Heaven is here, we'll look no higher, Finding God here, in Mans attire.

What need we upwards roll our eyes, To view the firmament of Stars? For here's the Sphere, where fixed lyes All beauty, which their beauty mars. Oh here is Heaven below; we see God lying on his mother's knee.

But we'll up look, and view the clear Bright firmament of Stars: What now? They're fixed in his eyes, the Sphear All circled by his smoothe white brow. Thus are we taught by what's here given, No more t' looke up, but down, to Heaven,

Heark, here is more of Heaven now heard; Stars from his eyes do fal apace; At which brisk Cherubs not afraid, Enthrone themselves upon his face, Sucking the Diamondt from his eyes, Then flye away, and in the skies

Scatrer fresh Stars, and so became The watry region twixt two Heavens, To be remade a spangled frame, Since Heaven and Earth were twins themselves. Therefore no eldership is made Twixt Heaven and Earth, since here he's laid,

For, long before a day was made, He, as you see, in earth was laid.

Now welcome all that's from above, And welfare all that are belowe: Let's sing the story of heavens love: The Spheres are at it long ago: And shall the Earth, that's new made Heaven, Not with the Spheres in praise be even?

Musick and Love shall have a Duel, Which shall out-vie in sound and shew; And yet we'll adde some sacred fuel, To heighten Voice with Musick too. But such a Concord shall agree, As if Earth were Heavens harmony.

Sound, Heaven and Earth, each sweet-lipp'd thing, And burn Perfumes at ev'ry Song; Bedew with Myrrhe each well-stretch'd string, And tune a Base that's heard among The Quire of Angels; so they shall, To hear our sounds, be ravish'd all.

Whilst the small Musick shall affright The Inne th'rowont, and wake each Groom▪ That hath not slept two hours this night, And yawning, wonder it should be noon. With speed, affrighted, to the Stable They run, to cleanse, but are not able.

Some of the Hay hath Angels quilted, To cover here this All-Small-Great; Whilst some, like rays, his eyes have gilded, As lacing to his lodging-sheet. You see the Babe, a minute old, Turns spires of Grass to beams of Gold. If any ask why yellow's Hay, It's soon resolv'd; God 'mongst it lay.

No more of mirth, the Babe's at rest, Lull'd with the Lullabies of Mary, In the warm Cradle 'twixt her brest, Lest the pure Lamb should else miscarry. Sweet Babe, it is thy mothers faith, To fear, though God in arms she hath.

Fear not, weep not, sweetest Mary; Why strew you tears on the face Of your lull'd Babe? Tears will carry News to his Father from this place, That you, for pain of this poor morn, More sigh, then joy that God is born.

Let not thy faith, sweet Mary, slinch: Hosts of bright Angels centre can, With all their glory, in an inch, And cannot yours in this blest Span? Many in less, and cannot one Have faith enough in God, her own?

Oh wouldst thou know what heaven is doing? Preparing Maps to draw a new Celestiall Compasse: They are viewing Thee and the Babe; that Heaven's you two▪ A Heavenly Substance, not a Map, Mary, thou hast upon thy lap.

Oh Virgin-son, by title Heir No Heaven; by birth, a Heaven it selfe: Thy Virgin-mothers Dearest fair, Thou King of Earth, not of its Wealth: What shall we offer up unto thee? Thou King of Heaven we have nothing for thee.

The Infant-day's an hour old: Day and thy Beams do clear discover The Vileness of poor Shepherds bold, To tune thy birth before thy mother. Give thee us leave hence to depart, We'll come and praise thee with new heart,

And fill this Kingly Court of thine, If thou accept our home-spun loves, With this our Sacrifice Divine, A flain fat Lamb, fair Turtle Doves: Such, and our selves, we will prefer A Sacrifice at thy Alter: And so we'll spend in clouds of Bayes, And Rosemary, this Christ-tide prayse. And if thy Court, dread Babe, remove from us, The Sun not Stars, shall guide us to the Jesus.