Puslapio vaizdai

Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find him out?

Star. No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest,

A princely babe, in's mother's breast.

The Glad Evangel


Hymn for Christmas

Oh! lovely voices of the sky

Which hymned the Saviour's birth,

Are ye not singing still on high,

Ye that sang,

"Peace on earth"?

To us yet speak the strains

Wherewith, in time gone by,

Ye blessed the Syrian swains,

Oh! voices of the sky!

Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams
That hour Heaven's glory shed,
Around the palms, and o'er the streams,
And on the shepherd's head.

The Glad Evangel

Be near, through life and death,
As in that holiest night

Of hope, and joy, and faith-
Oh! clear and shining light!


New Prince, New Pomp

Behold a simple, 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.

The Three Kings

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;

Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by


For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful


The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere;




The And by this they knew that the coming was near Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Giad Evangel

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night over hills and

And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,

With the people they met at the wayside wells.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,

"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news; For we in the East have seen his star, And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;

We know of no king but Herod the Great!" They thought the Wise Men were men insane, As they spurred their horses across the plain Like riders in haste who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away, and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn;

Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses

And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were


And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,

The Child that would be King one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.


Glad Evangel

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