The sun sets bright­ly in the sea,
Foreknowing what his morn shall be,
And dreams through­out the dawn­ing night,
Of ris­ing on the Source of Light.
Born with cre­ation, he must wane
When Ed­en is re­vealed again;
Now is his man­hood’s lus­ty prime
The noon and tri­umph­ing of Time.

The day has end­ed mild and calm,
The sea wind scarc­ely sways the palm;
The ol­ive trees beneath the hill
Sleep, in its fold­ing, hushed and still.
Above, the tow­ers of Beth­le­hem
Fade in the night that falls on them,
Yet hold in guard the roc­ky steep
That Re­ho­bo­am bade them keep.

They ov­er­look the length­en­ing vale
That stretch­es to the Dead Sea pale,
And far be­yond, to east­ern plains,
Where Am­mon now no long­er reigns.
O ci­ty small, ’mid Ju­dah’s host,
Now grow­ing to her crown and boast;
How high at morn thy head shall be,
For earth shall bow to hal­low thee!

The land of God, His peo­ple’s home,
Is cap­tive to im­pe­ri­al Rome;
Necks that were proud of Da­vid’s sway
Have stooped to Cæ­sar’s, and ob­ey.
The tribes, that did to­ge­ther meet
To serve their God with joy­ful feet,
Are or­dered home at Cæ­sar’s word,
And tax­èd by a for­eign lord.

Joseph, a man in low­ly life,
With Ma­ry his es­pous­èd wife,
Had tra­veled far to Beth­le­hem—
A branch was he of Da­vid’s stem.
No place for those of low de­gree
Could in that crowd­ed ci­ty be;
And ev­en at the low­ly inn
No room could they, no wel­come, win.

So where the cat­tle rest at night,
Oh, hap­py they to see such sight!
Poor in all else but love and grace,
The vir­gin had her dwell­ing place.
She sits be­side the porch of stone;
With gold­en blue the ev­en­ing shone;
The tim­id stars come, one by one,
Incredulous that day was done.

Well Ma­ry knew their forms on high,
And loved their gen­tle com­pa­ny,
When Jo­seph led the night­ly way
From Na­za­reth, and shunned the day.
While Ma­ry watch­es by the door,
Behold! a star un­known be­fore
Mounts slow­ly up the west­ern sky,
And then she knows her hour is nigh.

Like John the Bap­tist’s ear­ly word,
Which rose be­fore, and with, His Lord,
That star, which goes be­fore His face,
Doth preach His beau­ty, light and grace.
The vir­gin lifts her hands above,
Her eyes are tears, her heart is love;
She sees the joy she could be­lieve
And prays the pray­er of Christ­mas Eve.