A Carol [i] Poem by Mildmay Fane

If nothing else, may not this season move,
Or time become the true chronicle of love?
And so allay the fury, stint the rage
Or madness doth predominize this age?
When for to ransom man, whose least offense
Was charactered in disobedience,
He who knew no sin came, that to fulfill
The mercy statute of His Father's will:
Thus he forgave, and gave, to let us know
What to our very enemies we owe,
By his example; and decrees this fate
To the posterity unfortunate
Of too-believing Adam, that they must
Give themselves over to no other trust
Than what His Word assures; nor to make less
That first of sins, create them numberless
In envy, malice, and ambition,
But join to charity contrition
For by-past faults, and resolutions raise
To spend the future in our Maker's praise:
Obey Him first, then those His glorious powers
Shall substitute for our superiors:
And with our own condition whatsoever
Content, enjoy a full harmonious sphere;
Leaving no orb for discord's fond increase,
Since He that's born for us was Prince of Peace.