Classic Poem

Runne (Sheepheards) run where Bethleme blest appeares,
Wee bring the best of newes, be not dismay'd,
A Saviour there is born, more old than yeares,
Amidst Heav'ns rolling heights this Earth who stay'd;
In a poore Cottage Inn'd, a Virgine Maide
A weakling did him beare, who all upbeares,
This is hee poorly swadl'd, in Manger laid,
To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheares:

Runne (Shepheards) runne, and solemnise his Birth,
This is that Night, no, Day grown great with Blisse.
In which the power of Sathan broken is,
In Heaven be glorie, Peace unto the Earth.
Thus singing through the Aire the Angels swame,
And Cope of Starres re-echoed the same.