Page:The Cambridge Carol Book.djvu/16



Holy Child, Lain in an oxen manger, Of Jesse stem, Yet scorn'd at Bethlehem, In winter wild, As ne'er-to-fore was stranger, Constrain'd, as I hear tell, Outside, outside a churlish inn to dwell, Outside, outside a churlish inn to dwell.

Methink I stand To-day in David's city, And twang the chord For David's Son and Lord: If, harp in hand, I make but tuneless ditty, Yet, Babe, Thou know'st that I Assay, assay my best—a lullaby, Assay, assay my best—a lullaby.

What if my flute Break time with Angel singers, Or not surpass The Alto of yon ass; What if my lute Be pluck'd with artless fingers, Or if my voice be Base, Now flat, now flat, now sharp, bereft of grace, Now flat, now flat, now sharp, bereft of grace—

Thou wilt accept My song, nor reprehend it: For Thee, above All earthly things, I love: