Page images
PDF
EPUB

Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein.

Afford a present to the Infant-God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,

To welcome him to this his new abode,

Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approaching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright ?

See, how from far, upon the eastern road,

The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet;

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the Angel quire,

From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.

[graphic]

THE HYMN

11017

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »