Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/40



There, swathed in humblest poverty, On Chastity's meek lap enshrined, With breathless Reverence waiting by, When we our Sovereign Master find,

Will not the long-forgotten glow Of mingled joy and awe return, When stars above or flowers below First made our infant spirits burn?

Look on us, Lord, and take our parts E'en on Thy throne of purity! From these our proud yet grovelling hearts Hide not Thy mild forgiving eye.

Did not the Gentile Church find grace, Our mother dear, this favoured day? With gold and myrrh she sought Thy face; Nor didst Thou turn Thy face away.

She too, in earlier, purer days, Had watched thee gleaming faint and far - But wandering in self-chosen ways She lost Thee quite, Thou lovely star.

Yet had her Father's finger turned To Thee her first inquiring glance: The deeper shame within her burned, When wakened from her wilful trance.

Behold, her wisest throng Thy gate, Their richest, sweetest, purest store, (Yet owned too worthless and too late,) They lavish on Thy cottage-floor.

They give their best—O tenfold shame On us their fallen progeny, Who sacrifice the blind and lame - Who will not wake or fast with Thee!