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I.

[Before the Inn at Bethlehem. The Shepherds.]
First Shepherd.
What men be these in brave array!
And who be they that follow them?
They ride before the break of day,
And soon will halt at Bethlehem.

Second Shepherd.
I know them not, but I can see
That they are strangers, and, I guess,
Of noble lineage. They should be
Kings, or the sons of kings—no less.

Third Shepherd.
It may be they have gone astray,
And did not mean to come this way.
I will accost them at the gate,
Hear what they say, and set them straight.
[Enter the three Kings.
Hail, Masters, hail!


413

First King.
And who be ye
That meet us here? We looked to meet
The elders who should wash our feet
And offer hospitality;
Not shepherd swains, with homely looks,
Whose only sceptres are their crooks.

First Shepherd.
True, we are shepherds, nor the first
This city on the hill hath nursed;
For once the Flower of Jesse's Stem
Tended his flocks at Bethlehem.
Thence were we honored in the Past,
And henceforth shall be honored more
Than ever shepherds were before,
For we have seen it all at last.

Second King.
What mean ye, shepherds?

Second Shepherd.
Hear, O King!
Give ear unto a wondrous thing.
We sat and watched our flocks last night,
When suddenly the heavens were bright,
As though a thousand mornings shone.
Amid that Light we saw a Throne,
But not Who sat thereon. Below
We saw the angels come and go,
Glorious and gracious to behold,
With shining wings and harps of gold.
They touched their harps, and sung a song,

414

So low and sweet, so loud and strong,
One might live on it his whole life long.
We knew not half the angels sung,
For it was in an unknown tongue;
But the refrain thereof was plain,
(O, may it never cease again!)
“Glory to God!” it ran, and then,
“Good will on earth, and peace to men!”

Third King.
And this was all?

Third Shepherd.
A Star now stood
Above the heavenly multitude,
Higher than the highest ever trod,
But far below the feet of God.
A moment stood, then settled down
And rested over Bethlehem town,
Whereto there came, as rumor saith,
Along the road from Nazareth,
A man and woman, travelling slow.
They reach the Inn, but find the door
Fastened. There is no room for more.
Where shall the way-worn travellers go?
Only the stable-floor remains,
A stall for chamber, straw for bed,
Where he may rest his weary head,
And she endure her mother-pains.
This is the stable. Enter ye
And greet the Holy Family.