Behold, a silly 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 depths 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,
This crib his chair of state;
