To blase the rising of this glorious sunne...

The Epiphanye

To blase the rising of this glorious sunne

A gltteringe starre appeareth in the Easte

Whose sight to Pilgrimm toyles three sages wunne

To seek the light they long had in requeste

And by this starre to nobler starr they pace

Whose armes did their desired sunne embrace

Stall was the skye wherein these planets shynde

And want the cloud that did eclipse their rayes

Yet through this cloud their light did passage finde

And perc’d these sages harts by secret waies

Which made them knowe the ruler of the skyes

By infant tongue and lookes of babish eyes

Heaven at her light, earth blusheth at her pride

And of their pompe these Peeres ashamed bee

Their Crownes, their robes their trayne they sett aside

When Gods poore cotage clouts and crewe they see

All glorious thinges their glory now dispise

Sith God contempt doth more than glory prize

Three giftes they bringe three giftes they beare awaye

For incense myrrhe and gould , faith hope and love

And with their gifts the givers hartes do staye

Their mynde from Christ no parting can remove

His humble state, his stall his poor retynewe

They phancie more then all their ritch revenewe

St Robert Southwell S.J. (1561-95)