Our American Holidays - Christmas/New Prince, New Pomp

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Behold a simple, 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 inquire:
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 praisèd there.

With joy approach, O Christian wight!
   Do homage to thy King;
And highly praise this humble pomp,
   Which he from heaven doth bring.