I THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD Come, give me, child, the tuneful lute, That I, in faithful verse, may sound, A song both sweet and musical, The mighty deeds of Christ renowned. Of Him alone our muse shall sing, Our lyre His praise alone resound. Begotten of the Father's breast, He took the form of fallen flesh, Lest that fair race which once had sprung Which race, into the depths of hell The law had plunged with baleful sway. O beatus ortus ille, Psallat altitudo coeli; Ecce! quem vates vetustis Te senes et te iuventus, Simplices puellulae Voce concordes pudicis Perstrepant concentibus. O blest was that nativity, When bringing forth her first-born Child The Virgin our Salvation bore Conceived by Spirit undefiled, Then sing the utmost height of heaven; Behold! the One whom holy seers Let Him by all things be extolled! Thee let old age and Thee let youth, To make resound Thy praises higher. |