You find all sorts of interesting things stuck inside books: letters, tickets, obituaries, even money.
Today I found a Carol – a Scotch (or Scots) Carol in fact which I will now commit to cyberspace. It was typed on a small piece of paper and “From Popular Antiquities Pub. 1810” was scribbled in pencil underneath.
I come from Hevin to tell,
The best of Nowellis that ever befell:
To yow thir Tythinges trew I bring
And I will of them say and sing.
This Day to you is borne ane Childe,
Of Marie meike and Virgine mylde,
That blessit Barne bining and kynde
Sall yow rejoyce baith Heart and Mynd.
My Saull and Lyfe stand up and see
Quha lyes in ane Cribe of Tree,
Quhat Babe is that so gude and faire?
It is Christ, God’s Sonne and Aire.
O God that made all Creature,
How art thou becum so pure,
That on the Hay and Stray will lye,
Amang the Asses, Oxin, and Kye?
O my deir Hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy Creddill in my Spreit,
And I sall rocke thee in my Hert,
And never mair from thee depart.
But I sall praise thee ever moir
With sangs sweit unto thy Gloir,
The knees of my Hert sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow*.