A few years ago, thanks to reading the books of author Joseph Pearce (whose biographies I heartily recommend!) I became familiar with the poetry of Father Robert Southwell, an English Jesuit. Father Southwell was put to death for his faith in the hysterically anti-Catholic times near the end of the 16th century. Although only 34 years old when martyred, he managed to pen some remarkable lines of verse. One that is particularly focused on Christmas is entitled, "New Prince, New Pomp," and I thought I would share it here.
Behold, a seely 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 seely beasts
In crib to shroud his head.
Despise him not for lying there,
First, what he is enquire,
An orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,
Nor beast 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,
The beasts are parcel of his pomp,
The wooden dish his plate.
The persons in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear;
The prince himself is come from heaven;
This pomp is prized there.
With Joy approach O Christian right,
Do homage to thy king;
And highly prize this humble pomp
Which he from heaven doth bring.
I hope you enjoy this wonderful poem and I wish each of you a very blessed and fulfilling Christmas season!
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