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THE INFANT BAPTIST.
Bright star of morn,—last in the train of night,“If better thou belong not to the day,”
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Which chas'd the darkness of the world away,
And drown'd in glorious blaze thy gentle ray;
We hail thee as the harbinger of peace,
The voice that crieth in the wilderness:
The voice that spake of Him,—in whose blest name
Mercy and grace, and heav'n, and all we claim;
We hail thee as the friend of Him we love,
The friend of Zion's bridegroom from above.
Last of the prophet train, thy coming prov'd
That God could not forget the world He lov'd,
First messenger of Christ, thy beauty shone
'Till quench'd in brightest noon by Judah's rising sun!
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