The Poetry Corner

Hymn For Christmas-Day (Hymnus VIII. Kalendas Ianuarias)

By Aurelius Clemens Prudentius

Hymnus VIII. Kalendas Ianuarias Quid est, quod artum circulum sol iam recurrens deserit? Christusne terris nascitur, qui lucis auget tramitem? Heu quam fugacem gratiam festina volvebat dies, quam pene subductam facem sensim recisa extinxerat! Caelum nitescat laetius, gratetur et gaudens humus, scandit gradatim denuo iubar priores lineas. Emerge dulcis pusio, quem mater edit castitas, parens et expers coniugis, mediator et duplex genus. Ex ore quamlibet Patris sis ortus et verbo editus, tamen paterno in pectore sophia callebas prius. Quae prompta caelum condidit, caelum diemque et cetera, virtute verbi effecta sunt haec cuncta: nam verbum Deus. Sed ordinatis seculis, rerumque digesto statu fundator ipse et artifex permansit in Patris sinu, donec rotata annalium transvolverentur milia, atque ipse peccantem diu dignatus orbera viseret. Nam caeca vis mortalium venerans inanes nenias vel aera vel saxa algida, vel ligna credebat Deum. Haec dum sequuntur, perfidi praedonis in ius venerant, et mancipatam fumido vitam barathro inmerserant: Stragem sed istam non tulit Christus cadentum gentium inpune ne forsan sui Patris periret fabrica. Mortale corpus induit, ut excitato corpore mortis catenam frangeret hominemque portaret Patri. Hic ille natalis dies, quo te creator arduus spiravit et limo indidit sermone carnem glutinans. Sentisne, virgo nobilis, matura per fastidia pudoris intactum decus honore partus crescere? O quanta rerum gaudia alvus pudica continet, ex qua novellum seculum procedit et lux aurea! Vagitus ille exordium vernantis orbis prodidit, nam tunc renatus sordidum mundus veternum depulit. Sparsisse tellurem reor rus omne densis floribus, ipsasque arenas syrtium fragrasse nardo et nectare. Te cuncta nascentem puer sensere dura et barbara, victusque saxorum rigor obduxit herbam cotibus. Iam mella de scopulis fluunt, iam stillat ilex arido sudans amomum stipite, iam sunt myricis balsama. O sancta praesepis tui, aeterne rex, cunabula, populisque per seclum sacra mutis et ipsis credita. Adorat haec brutum pecus indocta turba scilicet, adorat excors natio, vis cuius in pastu sita est. Sed cum fideli spiritu concurrat ad praesepia pagana gens et quadrupes, sapiatque quod brutum fuit: Negat patrum prosapia perosa praesentem Deum: credas venenis ebriam furiisve lymphatam rapi. Quid prona per scelus ruis? agnosce, si quidquam tibi mentis resedit integrae, ducem tuorum principum. Hunc, quem latebra et obstetrix, et virgo feta, et cunulae et inbecilla infantia regem dederunt gentibus, peccator intueberis celsum coruscis nubibus, deiectus ipse et inritus plangens reatum fletibus: Cum vasta signum bucina terris cremandis miserit, et scissus axis cardinem mundi ruentis solverit: Insignis ipse et praeminens meritis rependet congrua, his lucis usum perpetis, illis gehennam et tartarum. Iudaea tunc fulmen crucis experta, qui sit, senties, quem te furoris praesule mors hausit et mox reddidit. Hymn For Christmas-Day Why doth the sun re-orient take A wider range, his limits break? Lo! Christ is born, and o'er earth's night Shineth from more to more the light! Too swiftly did the radiant day Her brief course run and pass away: She scarce her kindly torch had fired Ere slowly fading it expired. Now let the sky more brightly beam, The earth take up the joyous theme: The orb a broadening pathway gains And with its erstwhile splendour reigns. Sweet babe, of chastity the flower, A virgin's blest mysterious dower! Rise in Thy twofold nature's might: Rise, God and man to reunite! Though by the Father's will above Thou wert begot, the Son of Love, Yet in His bosom Thou didst dwell, Of Wisdom the eternal Well; Wisdom, whereby the heavens were made And light's foundations first were laid: Creative Word! all flows from Thee! The Word is God eternally. For though with process of the suns The ordered whole harmonious runs, Still the Artificer Divine Leaves not the Father's inmost shrine. The rolling wheels of Time had passed O'er their millennial journey vast, Before in judgment clad He came Unto the world long steeped in shame. The purblind souls of mortals crass Had trusted gods of stone and brass, To things of nought their worship paid And senseless blocks of wood obeyed. And thus employed, they fell below The sway of man's perfidious foe: Plunged in the smoky sheer abyss They sank bereft of their true bliss. But that sore plight of ruined man Christ's pity could not lightly scan: Nor let God's building nobly wrought Ingloriously be brought to nought. He wrapped Him in our fleshly guise, That from the tomb He might arise, And man released from death's grim snare Home to His Father's bosom bear. This is the day of Thy dear birth, The bridal of the heaven and earth, When the Creator breathed on Thee The breath of pure humanity. Ah! glorious Maid, dost thou not guess What guerdon thy chaste soul shall bless, How by thy ripening pangs is bought An honour greater than all thought? O what a load of joy untold Thy womb inviolate doth hold! Of thee a golden age is born, The brightness of the earth's new morn! Hearken! doth not the infant's wail The universal springtide hail? For now the world re-born lays by Its gloomy, frost-bound apathy. Methinks in all her rustic bowers The earth is spread with clustering flowers: Odours of nard and nectar sweet E'en o'er the sands of Syrtes fleet. All places rough and deserts wild Have felt from far Thy coming, Child: Rocks to Thy gentle empire bow And verdure clothes the mountain brow. Sweet honey from the boulder leaps: The sere and leafless oak-bough weeps A strange rich attar: tamarisks too Of balsam pure distil the dew. Blessd for ever, cradle dear, The lowly stall, the cavern drear! Men to this shrine, Eternal King, With dumb brutes adoration bring. The ox and ass in homage low Obedient to their Maker bow: Bows too the unlearn'd heartless crowd Whose minds the sensual feast doth cloud. Though, by the faithful Spirit impelled, Shepherds and brutes, unreasoning held, Yea, folk that did in darkness dwell Discern their God in His poor cell: Yet children of the sacred race Blindly abhor the Incarnate grace: By philtres you might deem them lulled Or by some bacchic phrenzy dulled. Why headlong thus to ruin stride? If aught of soundness in you bide, Behold in Him the Lord divine Of all your patriarchal line. Mark you the dim-lit cave, the Maid, The humble nurse, the cradle laid, The helpless infancy forlorn: Yet thus the Gentiles' King was born! Ah sinner, thou shalt one day see This Child in dreadful majesty, See Him in glorious clouds descend, While thou thy guilty heart shalt rend. Vain all thy tears, when loud shall sound The trump, when flames shall scorch the ground, When from its hinge the cloven world Is loosed, in horrid tumult hurled. Then throned on high, the Judge of all Shall mortals to their reckoning call: To these shall grant the prize of light, To those Gehenna's gloomy night. Then, Israel, shalt thou learn at length The Cross hath, as the lightning, strength: Doomed by thy wrath, He now is Lord, Whom Death once grasped but soon restored.