What Child Is This? What Child is this, who, laid to rest On Mary's lap, is sleeping? Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, While shepherds watch are keeping? Refrain: This, this is Christ the King, Whom shepherds guard and angels sing; Haste, haste to bring Him laud, The Babe, the Son of Mary. Why lies He in such mean estate, Where ox and ass are feeding? Good Christians fear: for sinners here The silent Word is pleading. Refrain So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh, Come peasant, King to own Him; The King of Kings salvation brings; Let loving hearts enthrone Him! Refrain
Whence Comes This Rush of Wings? Whence comes this rush of wings afar, Following straight the Noël star? Birds from the woods in wondrous flight, Bethlehem seek this Holy Night. "Tell us, ye birds, why come ye here, Into this stable, poor and drear?" "Hast'ning we seek the new-loom King, And all our sweetest music bring." Hark! how the greenfinch bears his part, Philomel, too, with tender heart, Chants from her leafy dark retreat, Re, mi, fa, sol, in accents sweet. Angels and shepherds, birds of the sky, Come where the Son of God cloth lie; Christ on earth with man cloth dwell, Join in the shout, "Noël, Noël!"
Philosophers have argued for centuries about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but materialists have always known it depends on whether they are jitterbugging or dancing cheek to cheek.
Your enjoyment of the world is never right, till every morning you awake in Heaven; see yourself in your Father's Palace; and look upon the skies, the earth, and the air as Celestial Joys; having such a reverend esteem of all, as if you were among the Angels.
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.
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