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22

XVIII. FEST. EPIPHANIÆ.

They leave the land of gems and gold,
The shining portals of the East;
For Him, ‘the Woman's Seed’ foretold,
They leave the revel and the feast.
To earth their sceptres they have cast
And crowns by Kings ancestral worn;
They track the lonely Syrian waste;
They kneel before the Babe new-born.
O happy eyes that saw Him first!
O happy lips that kissed His feet!
Earth slakes at last her ancient thirst;
With Eden's joy her pulses beat.
True Kings are those who thus forsake
Their kingdoms for the Eternal King—
Serpent! her foot is on thy neck!
Herod! thou writh'st, but canst not sting!
He, He is King, and He alone,
Who lifts that Infant hand to bless;
Who makes His Mother's knee His Throne,
Yet rules the starry wilderness.