Viii

Kind star, still may'st thou shed thy sacred influence here, Or from thy private peaceful orb appear; For, sure, we want some guide from Heaven, to show The way which every wand'ring fool below Pretends so perfectly to know; And which, for aught I see, and much I fear, The world has wholly miss'd; I mean the way which leads to Christ: Mistaken idiots! see how giddily they run, Led blindly on by avarice and pride, What mighty numbers follow them; Each fond of erring with his guide: Some whom ambition drives, seek Heaven's high Son In Caesar's court, or in Jerusalem: Others, ignorantly wise, Among proud doctors and disputing Pharisees: What could the sages gain but unbelieving scorn; Their faith was so uncourtly, when they said That Heaven's high Son was in a village born; That the world's Saviour had been In a vile manger laid, And foster'd in a wretched inn?