 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
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THE STAR OF PROMISE.
When kneeling sages saw, of yore,
Their star of promise rise for them,
How Learning's lamp grew dim before
The heaven-born light of Bethlehem!
Their star of promise rise for them,
How Learning's lamp grew dim before
The heaven-born light of Bethlehem!
How faltered Wisdom's haughty tone,
When, led by God's exulting choir,
His radiant herald glided on—
The darkling heathen's beacon-fire!
When, led by God's exulting choir,
His radiant herald glided on—
The darkling heathen's beacon-fire!
When sweet, from many an angel voice,
While rang the viewless harps of Heaven,
He heard their song of love—“Rejoice,
For peace on earth, and sin forgiven!”
While rang the viewless harps of Heaven,
He heard their song of love—“Rejoice,
For peace on earth, and sin forgiven!”
The Chaldean flung his scroll aside,
The Arab left his desert-tent,
Their hope—their trust—that beaming guide,
Till low at Mary's feet they bent!—
The Arab left his desert-tent,
Their hope—their trust—that beaming guide,
Till low at Mary's feet they bent!—
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Ay! Asia's wisest knelt around,
Forgetting Fame's too earthly dream;
While bright, upon the hallowed ground,
Their golden gifts—a mockery—gleam.
Forgetting Fame's too earthly dream;
While bright, upon the hallowed ground,
Their golden gifts—a mockery—gleam.
There vainly too their censers breathed,—
Oh! what were incense, gems, to Him,
Around whose brow a glory wreathed,
That made their day-star's splendour dim?
Oh! what were incense, gems, to Him,
Around whose brow a glory wreathed,
That made their day-star's splendour dim?
To Him, o'er whose blest spirit came
The fragrance of celestial flowers,
Who saw the countless plumes of flame
That play'd thro' Heaven's resplendent bowers?
The fragrance of celestial flowers,
Who saw the countless plumes of flame
That play'd thro' Heaven's resplendent bowers?
To kneeling Faith's devoted eye
It shines—that Star of Promise—now,
Fair, as when far, in Asia's sky,
It lit her sage's lifted brow!
It shines—that Star of Promise—now,
Fair, as when far, in Asia's sky,
It lit her sage's lifted brow!
No sparkling treasure we may bring,
Nor “gift of gold,” nor jewel-stone;
The censer's sweets we may not fling,
In incense, round our Saviour's throne;—
Nor “gift of gold,” nor jewel-stone;
The censer's sweets we may not fling,
In incense, round our Saviour's throne;—
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But when, o'er Sorrow's clouded view,
That planet rises to our prayer,
We, where it leads, may follow too,
And lay—a contrite spirit there!
That planet rises to our prayer,
We, where it leads, may follow too,
And lay—a contrite spirit there!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |