Common minds, which must always associate a certain conventional respectability with the forms of religion, will think it irreverent.

I judge its reverence profound, and such none the less that it is pervaded by a sweet and delicate tone of holy humour.

The very title has a glimmer of the glowing heart of Christianity: NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP.
Behold a silly,[69] tender babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies; Alas! a piteous sight.
The inns are full; no man will yield This little pilgrim bed; But forced he is with silly beasts In crib to shroud his head.
Despise him not for lying there; First what he is inquire: An orient pearl is often found In depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish, Nor beasts that by him feed; Weigh not his mother's poor attire, Nor Joseph's simple weed.
This stable is a prince's court, The crib his chair of state; The beasts are parcel of his pomp, The wooden dish his plate.
The persons in that poor attire His royal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from heaven: This pomp is praised there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight; Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp, Which he from heaven doth bring.
Another, on the same subject, he calls _New Heaven, New War_.

It is fantastic to a degree.

One stanza, however, I like much: This little babe, so few days old, Is come to rifle Satan's fold; All hell doth at his presence quake, Though he himself for cold do shake; For in this weak, unarmed wise, The gates of hell he will surprise.
There is profoundest truth in the symbolism of this.