The Shepherds

William Drummond, of Hawthornden

O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!

Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise

Of which that golden eye which clears the skies

Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light!

And blessed ye, in silly pastor’s sight,

Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies

That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,

Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies!

Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,

Though withered—blessed grass that hath the grace

To deck and be a carpet to that place!

Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,

Before the Babe, the shepherds bowed on knees;

And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from trees.