XII. HAIL! HOLY CHILD, LAIN IN AN OXEN MANGER
1.Hail! Holy Child,
Lain in an oxen manger,
Of Jesse stem,
Yet scorn'd at Bethlehem,
In winter wild,
As ne'er-to-fore was stranger,
Constrain'd, as I hear tell,
Outside, outside a churlish inn to dwell,
Outside, outside a churlish inn to dwell.
2.Methink I stand
To-day in David's city,
And twang the chord
For David's Son and Lord:
If, harp in hand,
I make but tuneless ditty,
Yet, Babe, Thou know'st that I
Assay, assay my best—a lullaby,
Assay, assay my best—a lullaby.
3.What if my flute
Break time with Angel singers,
Or not surpass
The Alto of yon ass;
What if my lute
Be pluck'd with artless fingers,
Or if my voice be Base,
Now flat, now flat, now sharp, bereft of grace,
Now flat, now flat, now sharp, bereft of grace—
4.Thou wilt accept
My song, nor reprehend it:
For Thee, above
