John Milton

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
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This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring,
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That He our deadly forfeit should release,
And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.

Direct
The clasping ivy where to climb.

Direct
The clasping ivy where to climb.

With thee conversing I forget all time:
All seasons and their change, all please alike.

With thee conversing I forget all time:
All seasons and their change, all please alike.

If this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.

If this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.

And touch'd their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works.

And touch'd their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works.