XXV.

What music swells on every gale? What heavenly Herald rideth past? Vale sings to vale, "He comes; all hail!" Sea sighs to sea, "He comes at last."

The Earth bursts forth in choral song; Aloft her "Lauda Sion" soars; Her myrtle boughs at once are flung Before a thousand Minster doors.

Far on the white processions wind Through wood and plain and street and court The kings and prelates pace behind The King of kings in seemly sort.

The incense floats on Grecian air; Old Carmel echoes back the chant; In every breeze the torches flare That curls the waves of the Levant.

On Ramah's plain—in Bethlehem's bound— Is heard to-day a gladsome voice: "Rejoice," it cries, "the lost is found! With Mary's joy, O Earth, rejoice!"