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lirik lagu tim graham - john milton - on the morning of christ's nativity

this is the month, and this the happy morn
wherein the son of heav’n’s eternal king
of wedded maid, and virgin mother born
our great redemption from above did bring;
for so the holy sages once did sing
that he our deadly forfeit should release
and with his father work us a perpetual peace

that glorious form, that light unsufferable
and that far~beaming blaze of majesty
wherewith he won’t at heav’n’s high council~table
to sit the midst of trinal unity
he laid aside, and hеre with us to be
forsook the courts of еverlasting day
and chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay

say heav’nly muse, shall not thy sacred vein
afford a present to the infant god?
hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain
to welcome him to this his new abode
now while the heav’n, by the sun’s team untrod
hath took no print of the approaching light
and all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

see how from far upon the eastern road
the star~led wizards haste with odours sweet:
o run, prevent them with thy humble ode
and lay it lowly at his blessed feet;
have thou the honour first thy lord to greet
and join thy voice unto the angel quire
from out his secret altar touch’d with hallow’d fire
it was the winter wild
while the heav’n~born child
all meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
nature in awe to him
had doff’d her gaudy trim
with her great master so to sympathize:
it was no season then for her
to wanton with the sun, her l~sty paramour

only with speeches fair
she woos the gentle air
to hide her guilty front with innocent snow
and on her naked shame
pollute with sinful blame
the saintly veil of maiden white to throw
confounded, that her maker’s eyes
should look so near upon her foul deformities

but he, her fears to cease
sent down the meek~ey’d peace:
she, crown’d with olive green, came softly sliding
down through the turning sphere
his ready harbinger
with turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;
and waving wide her myrtle wand
she strikes a universal peace through sea and land
no war or battle’s sound
was heard the world around;
the idle spear and shield were high uphung;
the hooked chariot stood
unstain’d with hostile blood;
the trumpet spake not to the armed throng;
and kings sate still with awful eye
as if they surely knew their sovran lord was by

but peaceful was the night
wherein the prince of light
his reign of peace upon the earth began:
the winds with wonder whist
smoothly the waters kist
whispering new joys to the mild ocean
who now hath quite forgot to rave
while birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave

the stars with deep amaze
stand fix’d in steadfast gaze
bending one way their precious influence;
and will not take their flight
for all the morning light
or lucifer that often warn’d them thence
but in their glimmering orbs did glow
until their lord himself bespake, and bid them go
and though the shady gloom
had given day her room
the sun himself withheld his wonted speed
and hid his head for shame
as his inferior flame
the new~enlighten’d world no more should need:
he saw a greater sun appear
than his bright throne or burning axle~tree could bear

the shepherds on the lawn
or ere the point of dawn
sate simply chatting in a rustic row;
full little thought they than
that the mighty pan
was kindly come to live with them below:
perhaps their loves, or else their sheep
was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep;

when such music sweet
their hearts and ears did greet
as never was by mortal finger strook
divinely warbled voice
answering the stringed noise
as all their souls in blissful rapture took:
the air such pleasure loth to lose
with thousand echoes still prolongs each heav’nly close

nature, that heard such sound
beneath the hollow round
of cynthia’s seat, the airy region thrilling
now was almost won
to think her part was done
and that her reign had here its last fulfilling:
she knew such harmony alone
could hold all heav’n and earth in happier union

at last surrounds their sight
a globe of circular light
that with long beams the shame~fac’d night array’d;
the helmed cherubim
and sworded seraphim
are seen in glittering ranks with wings display’d
harping in loud and solemn quire
with unexpressive notes to heav’n’s new~born heir

such music (as ’tis said)
before was never made
but when of old the sons of morning sung
while the creator great
his constellations set
and the well~balanc’d world on hinges hung
and cast the dark foundations deep
and bid the welt’ring waves their oozy channel keep

ring out ye crystal spheres!
once bless our human ears
(if ye have power to touch our senses so)
and let your silver chime
move in melodious time
and let the bass of heav’n’s deep organ blow;
and with your ninefold harmony
make up full consort to th’angelic symphony

for if such holy song
enwrap our fancy long
time will run back and fetch the age of gold
and speckl’d vanity
will sicken soon and die
and leprous sin will melt from earthly mould;
and h~ll itself will pass away
and leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day

yea, truth and justice then
will down return to men
orb’d in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing
mercy will sit between
thron’d in celestial sheen
with radiant feet the tissu’d clouds down steering;
and heav’n, as at some festival
will open wide the gates of her high palace hall

but wisest fate says no:
this must not yet be so;
the babe lies yet in smiling infancy
that on the bitter cross
must redeem our loss
so both himself and us to glorify:
yet first to those ychain’d in sleep
the wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep

with such a horrid clang
as on mount sinai rang
while the red fire and smould’ring clouds outbrake:
the aged earth, aghast
with terror of that blast
shall from the surface to the centre shake
when at the world’s last session
the dreadful judge in middle air shall spread his throne

and then at last our bliss
full and perfect is
but now begins; for from this happy day
th’old dragon under ground
in straiter limits bound
not half so far casts his usurped sway
and, wrath to see his kingdom fail
swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail

the oracles are dumb;
no voice or hideous hum
runs through the arched roof in words deceiving
apollo from his shrine
can no more divine
with hollow shriek the steep of delphos leaving
no nightly trance or breathed spell
inspires the pale~ey’d priest from the prophetic cell

the lonely mountains o’er
and the resounding shore
a voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
from haunted spring, and dale
edg’d with poplar pale
the parting g~nius is with sighing sent;
with flow’r~inwoven tresses torn
the nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn

in consecrated earth
and on the holy hearth
the lars and lemures moan with midnight plaint;
in urns and altars round
a drear and dying sound
affrights the flamens at their service quaint;
and the chill marble seems to sweat
while each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat

peor and ba{:a}lim
forsake their temples dim
with that twice~batter’d god of palestine;
and mooned ashtaroth
heav’n’s queen and mother both
now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine;
the libyc hammon shrinks his h~rn;
in vain the tyrian maids their wounded thammuz mourn

and sullen moloch, fled
hath left in shadows dread
his burning idol all of blackest hue:
in vain with cymbals’ ring
they call the grisly king
in dismal dance about the furnace blue
the brutish gods of nile as fast
isis and orus, and the dog anubis, haste

nor is osiris seen
in memphian grove or green
trampling the unshower’d grass with lowings loud;
nor can he be at rest
within his sacred chest
naught but profoundest h~ll can be his shroud:
in vain with timbrel’d anthems dark
the sable~stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp’d ark

he feels from juda’s land
the dreaded infant’s hand
the rays of bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
nor all the gods beside
longer dare abide
not typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
our babe, to show his godhead true
can in his swaddling bands control the d~mned crew

so when the sun in bed
curtain’d with cloudy red
pillows his chin upon an orient wave
the flocking shadows pale
troop to th’infernal jail
each fetter’d ghost slips to his several grave
and the yellow~skirted fays
fly after the night~steeds, leaving their moon~lov’d maze

but see, the virgin blest
hath laid her babe to rest:
time is our tedious song should here have ending
heav’n’s youngest~teemed star
hath fix’d her polish’d car
her sleeping lord with handmaid lamp attending;
and all about the courtly stable
bright~harness’d angels sit in order serviceable

- lirik lagu tim graham

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