Poem: The Angels for the Nativity of our Lord, William Drummond, early 17th century

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlem blest appears,
We bring the best of news, be not dismayed,
A Savior there is born more old than years,
Amidst heaven’s rolling heights this earth who stayed:
In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid
A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;
There is he, poor swaddled, in a manger laid,
To whom too marrow swaddlings are our spheres:
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth,
This is that night – no, day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is;
In heaven be glory, peace unto earth!
Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,
And cope of stars re-echoed the same.