Yet still it sigh'd, even when was spread
The waiting Angel's wing,
"Oh, speak no ill of poetry,
For 'tis a holy thing."
THE COMING OF CHRIST.
"For unto you is born this day, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord."
Behold! the ancient darkness breaks
That o'er the nations lay,
And morn with purple banner wakes,
Bright herald of the day;
Hush'd are hoarse Sinai's thunders dread,
Descending Angels sing,
And crush'd Judea lifts the head,
To hail her promis'd king.
The harp of prophecy, so long
By sacred impulse fir'd,
Hath breath'd its last entrancing song,
And with the seer expired.
Symbol and type, whose linked chain
At Eden's bower began,
No more in dim and shadowy strain
Announce the truth to man.
Messiah comes! what throne of state
Shall win his glorious sway?
Throw wide Oh Earth! thy loftiest gate
To give the highest way:
