Behold, a seely tender babe <br /> In freezing winter night <br />In homely manger trembling lies; <br /> Alas, a piteous sight! <br />The inns are full, no man will yield <br /> This little pilgrim bed, <br />But forced he is with seely beasts <br /> In crib to shroud his head. <br />Despise him not for lying there, <br /> First, what he is enquire, <br />An orient pearl is often found <br /> In depth of dirty mire. <br />Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish, <br /> Nor beasts that by him feed; <br />Weigh not his mother's poor attire <br /> Nor Joseph's simple weed. <br />This stable is a prince's court, <br /> This crib his chair of state, <br />The beasts are parcel of his pomp, <br /> The wooden dish his plate. <br />The persons in that poor attire <br /> His royal liveries wear; <br />The prince himself is come from heaven; <br /> This pomp is prized there. <br />With joy approach, O Christian right, <br /> Do homage to thy king; <br />And highly prize his humble pomp <br /> Which he from heaven doth bring.<br /><br />Robert Southwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/new-prince-new-pomp/
