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 THE NIGHTINGALE

As the mute nightingale in closest groves Lies hid at noon, but when day's piercing eye Is locked in night, with full heart beating high Poureth her plain-song o'er the light she loves; So, Virgin Ever-pure and Ever-blest, Moon of religion, from whose radiant face Reflected streams the light of heavenly grace On broken hearts, by contrite thoughts oppressed: So, Mary, they who justly feel the weight Of Heaven's offended Majesty, implore Thy reconciling aid with suppliant knee: Of sinful man, O sinless Advocate, To thee they turn, nor Him they less adore; 'Tis still His light they love, less dreadful seen in thee.

TRYSTE NOEL

The Ox he openeth wide the doore, And from the Snowe he calls her inne, And he hath seen her smile therefore, Our Ladye without Sinne. Now soone from Sleep A Starre shall leap, And sonne arrive both King and Hinde: Amen, Amen: But O the place co'd I but finde!