The Nativity of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ

A Hymn

WHERE is this stupendous stranger,

Swains of Solyma, advise?

Lead me to my Master's manger,

Show me where my Saviour lies.

O Most Mighty! O MOST HOLY!

Far beyond the seraph's thought,

Art thou then so mean and lowly

As unheeded prophets taught?

O the magnitude of meekness!

Worth from worth immortal sprung;

O the strength of infant weakness,

If eternal is so young!

If so young and thus eternal,

Michael tune the shepherd's reed,

Where the scenes are ever vernal,

And the loves be Love indeed!

See the God blasphem'd and doubted

In the schools of Greece and Rome;

See the pow'rs of darkness routed,

Taken at their utmost gloom.

Nature's decorations glisten

Far above their usual trim;

Birds on box and laurels listen,

As so near the cherubs hymn.

Boreas now no longer winters

On the desolated coast;

Oaks no more are riv'n in splinters

By the whirlwind and his host.

Spinks and ouzels sing sublimely,

"We too have a Saviour born";

Whiter blossoms burst untimely

On the blest Mosaic thorn.

God all-bounteous, all-creative,

Whom no ills from good dissuade,

Is incarnate, and a native

Of the very world He made.

Christopher Smart

Faith as a Grain of Mustard-Seed

A Parable Of Jesus

THE Twelve to Christ, their Master, cry'd,

"Increase our faith!" The Lord reply'd,

If you had lively faith, indeed,

But as a grain of mustard-seed,

You might this sycomore* command           [species of fig]

To grow by sea and quit the land.

But whatsoe'er by faith is known,

Or done by works, is God's alone.

For which of you shall have a hand,

That plows and fodders at command;

And to him thus anon shall say,

Loos'd from the labour of the day,

"Go, get thee in, and take thy mess";

And shall not rather thus address,

"Make ready that on which I sup,

And gird thyself, and bring it up;

And when thou'st serv'd my bowl and meat,

Then likewise thou shalt drink and eat."--

What are the Master's thanks conferr'd

On him, who thus obey'd His word?

Not they, I trow--So likewise you,

That done you were enjoin'd to do,

Shall better with submission own

Before your Master's aweful throne,

"Our duty is but barely paid,

And 'twas by force that we obey'd;

And all our services are vain

In which are neither grace nor gain."

Christopher Smart

Good-Nature to Animals

A Hymn for Children

THE man of Mercy (says the Seer)

Shows mercy to his beast;

Learn not of churls to be severe,

But house and feed at least.

Shall I melodious pris'ners take

From out the linnet's nest,

And not keep busy care awake,

To cherish ev'ry guest?

What, shall I whip in cruel wrath

The steed that bears me safe,

Or 'gainst the dog, who plights his troth,

For faithful service chafe?

In the deep waters throw thy bread,

Which thou shalt find again,

With God's good interest on thy head

And pleasure for thy pain.

Let thine industrious silk-worms reap

Their wages to the full,

Nor let neglected dormice sleep

To death within thy wool.

Know when the frosty weather comes,

'Tis charity to deal

To wren and redbreast all thy crumbs,

The remnant of thy meal.

Tho' these some spirits think but light,

And deem indifferent things,

Yet they are serious in the sight

OF CHRIST, the King of Kings.

Christopher Smart

Mirth

A Hymn for Children

IF you are merry, sing away,

And touch the organs sweet;

This is the Lord's triumphant day,

Ye children in the gall'ries gay,

Shout from each goodly seat.

It shall be May to-morrow's morn,

A field then let us run,

And deck us in the blooming thorn,

Soon as the cock begins to warn,

And long before the sun.

--I give the praise to Christ alone,

My pinks already show;

And my streak'd roses fully blown,

The sweetness of the Lord make known,

And to His glory grow.

Ye little prattlers that repair

For cowslips in the mead,

Of those exulting colts beware,

But blythe security is there,

Where skipping lambkins feed.

With white and crimson laughs the sky,

With birds the hedge-rows ring;

To give the praise to God most high,

And all the sulky fiends defy,

Is a most joyful thing.

Christopher Smart

On the Eternity of the Supreme Being

A Poetical Essay

[Ed. Note: Smart won the Seatonian Prize--a privately-endowed award offered by Cambridge University for the best poem on one of the attributes of the Supreme Being--in 1750 for this poem; >he subsequently won the Seatonian again in 1751, 1752, 1754, and 1756, each year that he entered the competition. This poem, with its conventional academic style, Miltonic blank verse, and rather abstract conceptualizations, contrasts markedly with the poetry in more popular forms and styles that Smart was writing for the London periodicals at the same time. Even more marked are the contrasts between this poem and the later religious poetry with more direct language, concrete images, and powerful emotional intensity Smart would write during and following his mental breakdown in 1756.--Nelson]

HAIL, wond'rous Being, who in pow'r supreme

Exists from everlasting, whose great name

Deep in the human heart, and every atom,

The Air, the Earth or azure Main contains,

In undecipher'd characters is wrote--

Incomprehensible!--O what can words,

The weak interpreters of mortal thoughts,

Or what can thoughts (tho' wild of wing they rove

Thro' the vast concave of th'aetherial round)

If to the heav'n of heav'ns they'd win their way

Advent'rous, like the birds of night they're lost,

And delug'd in the flood of dazzling day.--

May then the youthful, uninspired Bard

Presume to hymn th'Eternal; may he soar

Where Seraph, and where Cherubin on high

Resound th'unceasing plaudits, and with them

In the grand Chorus mix his feeble voice?

He may--if Thou, Who from the witless babe

Ordainest honor, glory, strength and praise,

Uplift th'unpinion'd Muse, and deign t'assist,

Great Poet of the Universe, his song.

Before this earthly planet wound her course

Round Light's perennial fountain, before Light

Herself 'gan shine, and at th'inspiring word

Shot to existence in a blaze of day,

Before "the Morning-Stars together sang"

And hail'd Thee Architect of countless worlds.--

Thou art--all-glorious, all-beneficent,

All Wisdom and Omnipotence thou art.

But is the era of Creation fix'd

At when these worlds began? Could ought retard

Goodness, that knows no bounds, from blessing ever,

Or keep th'immense Artificer in sloth?

Avaunt the dust-directed crawling thought,

That Puissance immeasurably vast,

And Bounty inconceivable could rest

Content, exhausted with one week of action--

No--in th'exertion of Thy righteous pow'r,

Ten thousand times more active than the Sun,

Thou reign'd, and with a mighty hand compos'd

Systems innumerable, matchless all,

All stampt with Thine uncounterfeited seal.

But yet (if still to more stupendous heights

The Muse unblam'd her aching sense may strain),

Perhaps wrapt up in contemplation deep,

The best of Beings on the noblest theme

Might ruminate at leisure, Scope immense

Th'eternal Pow'r and Godhead to explore,

And with Itself th'omniscient mind replete.

This were enough to fill the boundless All,

This were a Sabbath worthy the Supreme!

Perhaps enthron'd amidst a choicer few,

Of Sp'rits inferior, He might greatly plan

The two prime Pillars of the Universe,

Creation and Redemption--and a while

Pause--with the grand presentiments of glory.

Perhaps--but all's conjecture here below,

All ignorance, and self-plum'd vanity--

O Thou, Whose ways to wonder at's distrust,

Whom to describe's presumption (all we can,--

And all we may--) be glorifi'd, be prais'd.

A Day shall come when all this Earth shall perish,

Nor leave behind ev'n Chaos; it shall come

When all the armies of the elements

Shall war against themselves, and mutual rage

To make Perdition triumph; it shall come,

When the capacious atmosphere above

Shall in sulphureous thunders groan, and die,

And vanish into void; the earth beneath

Shall sever to the center, and devour

Th'enormous blaze of the destructive flames.--

Ye rocks, that mock the raving of the floods,

And proudly frown upon th'impatient deep,

Where is your grandeur now? Ye foaming waves,

That all along th'immense Atlantic roar,

In vain ye swell; will a few drops suffice

To quench the inextinguishable fire?

Ye mountains, on whose cloud-crown'd tops the cedars

Are lessen'd into shrubs, magnific piles,

That prop the painted chambers of the heav'ns

And fix the earth continual; Athos, where:

Where, Tenerif's thy stateliness to-day?

What, Aetna, are thy flames to these?--No more

Than the poor glow-worm to the golden Sun.

Nor shall the verdant valleys then remain

Safe in their meek submission; they the debt

Of nature and of justice too must pay.

Yet I must weep for you, ye rival fair,

Arno and Andalusia; but for thee

More largely and with filial tears must weep,

O Albion, O my country; thou must join,

In vain dissever'd from the rest, must join

The terrors of th'inevitable ruin.

Nor thou, illustrious monarch of the day;

Nor thou, fair queen of night; nor you, ye stars,

Tho' million leagues and million still remote,

Shall yet survive that day; ye must submit

Sharers, not bright spectators of the scene.

But tho' the Earth shall to the center perish,

Nor leave behind ev'n Chaos; tho' the air

With all the elements must pass away,

Vain as an idiot's dream; tho' the huge rocks,

That brandish the tall cedars on their tops,

With humbler vales must to perdition yield;

Tho' the gilt Sun, and silver-tressed Moon

With all her bright retinue, must be lost;

Yet Thou, Great Father of the world, surviv'st

Eternal, as Thou wert: yet still survives

The soul of man immortal, perfect now,

And candidate for unexpiring joys.

He comes! He comes! the awful trump I hear;

The flaming sword's intolerable blaze

I see, He comes! th'Archangel from above.

"Arise, ye tenants of the silent grave,

Awake incorruptible and arise;

From east to west, from the antarctic pole

To regions hyperborean, all ye sons,

Ye sons of Adam, and ye heirs of Heav'n--

Arise, you tenants of the silent grave,

Awake incorruptible and arise."

'Tis then, nor sooner, that the restless mind

Shall find itself at home; and like the Ark

Fix'd on the mountain-top, shall look-aloft

O'er the vague passage of precarious life;

And, winds and waves and rocks and tempests past,

Enjoy the everlasting calm of Heav'n:

'Tis then, nor sooner, that the deathless soul

Shall justly know its nature and its rise:

'Tis then the human tongue new-tun'd shall give

Praises more worthy the eternal ear,

Yet what we can, we ought;--and therefore, Thou,

Purge Thou my heart, Omnipotent and Good!

Purge thou my heart with hyssop, lest like Cain

I offer fruitless sacrifice, with gifts

Offend, and not propitiate the Ador'd.

Tho' gratitude were bless'd with all the pow'rs

Her bursting heart could long for, tho' the swift,

The fiery-wing'd imagination soar'd

Beyond ambition's wish--yet all were vain

To speak Him as He is, Who is Ineffable.

Yet still let reason thro' the eye of faith

View Him with fearful love; let truth pronounce,

And adoration on her bended knee

With Heav'n-directed hands confess His reign.

And let th'Angelic, Archangelic band

With all the Hosts of Heav'n, Cherubic forms,

And forms Seraphic, witha their silver trumps

And golden lyres attend:--"For Thou art holy,

For Thou art One, th'Eternal, Who alone

Exerts all goodness, and transcends all praise."

Christopher Smart