And here is my sheet of Carols:—­

    An HYMNE of heavenly love.

    O blessed Well of Love!  O Floure of Grace! 
    O glorious Morning-Starre!  O Lampe of Light! 
    Most lively image of thy Father’s face,
    Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might,
    Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight,
    How can we Thee requite for all this good? 
    Or what can prize that Thy most precious blood?

    Yet nought Thou ask’st in lieu of all this love,
    But love of us, for guerdon of Thy paine: 
    Ay me! what can us lesse than that behove? 
    Had He required life of us againe,
    Had it beene wrong to ask His owne with gaine? 
    He gave us life, He it restored lost;
    Then life were least, that us so little cost.

    But He our life hath left unto us free,
    Free that was thrall, and blessed that was bann’d;
    Ne ought demaunds but that we loving bee,
    As He himselfe hath lov’d us afore-hand,
    And bound therto with an eternall band,
    Him first to love that us so dearely bought,
    And next our brethren, to His image wrought.

    Him first to love great right and reason is,
    Who first to us our life and being gave,
    And after, when we fared had amisse,
    Us wretches from the second death did save;
    And last, the food of life, which now we have,
    Even He Himselfe, in His dear sacrament,
    To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent.

    Then next, to love our brethren, that were made
    Of that selfe mould, and that self Maker’s hand,
    That we, and to the same againe shall fade,
    Where they shall have like heritage of land,
    However here on higher steps we stand,
    Which also were with self-same price redeemed
    That we, however of us light esteemed.

    Then rouze thy selfe, O Earth! out of thy soyle,
    In which thou wallowest like to filthy swyne,
    And doest thy mynd in durty pleasures moyle,
    Unmindfull of that dearest Lord of thyne;
    Lift up to Him thy heavie clouded eyne,
    That thou this soveraine bountie mayst behold,
    And read, through love, His mercies manifold.

    Beginne from first, where He encradled was
    In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay,
    Betweene the toylfull oxe and humble asse,
    And in what rags, and in how base array,
    The glory of our heavenly riches lay,
    When Him the silly shepheards came to see,
    Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee.

    From thence reade on the storie of His life,
    His humble carriage, His unfaulty wayes,
    His cancred foes, His fights, His toyle, His strife,
    His paines, His povertie, His sharpe assayes,
    Through which He past His miserable dayes,
    Offending none, and doing good to all,
    Yet being malist both by great and small.