XXIX.

A veil is on the face of Truth: She prophesies behind a cloud; She ministers, in robes of ruth, Nocturnal rites, and disallowed.

Eleusis hints, but dares not speak; The Orphic minstrelsies are dumb; Lost are the Sibyl's books, and weak Earth's olden faith in Him to come.

But ah, but ah, that Orient Star! On straw-roofed shed and large-eyed kine It flashes, guiding from afar The Magians to the Child Divine.

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh they bring— Love, Worship, Life severe and hard: Well pleased the symbol gifts the King Accepts; and Truth is their reward.

Rejoice, O Sion, for thy night Is past: the Lord, thy Light, is born. The Gentiles shall behold thy light; The kings walk forward in thy morn.