And the best fortune any on us has had! Lord, though, but don’t it make an old heart glad! Christ born? You say it is so, Sir? So be it! Thank God as we should be alive to see it!
Aye, there go ye! While ye so fare, your folds shall guarded be; Round them even now stand those ye do not see. Go ye in peace!
Now we will go, now we will go, The way we know to Bethlehem; That they may show, and we may know, ’Tis even so as you proclaim.
And we will take the bread we bake, The wine we make, as gifts to them; And milk and cheese; and on our knees Will offer these at Bethlehem.
And He shall know we love Him so, But cannot show a better way Of service dear, and loving cheer, Than we do here on Christmas Day.
Sir, do you think that I might make so bold As offer Him a young lamb from the fold? ’Twas the first dropped this lambing time; maybe He’ll take it kindly from the likes o’ we, We being simple shepherds.
Simple? Yes! Would God, all minds had this same simpleness! Take Him what gifts ye will! To-night on earth All’s peace to greet Christ’s birth.
Noticed you that? He made the shepherd’s sign: ’a did it pat!
Peace befall You and your ways! Good-night, friend; good-night, all.
And we will go, and we will go, The way we know to Bethlehem; That Love may show, and we may know, ’Tis even so as you proclaim.
_Enter the ANGEL OF THE STAR. He crosses the stage and departs._
Hear me, O King of Kings, And give me my desire!
Hive me beneath Thy wings, And guide my feet with fire!
Unto that Holy Mount, Where forth from Thee goes Light.
Whence springs a Living Fount To wash the whole world white.
Peace be with you, and hail! Where go ye this fair night, Travellers, and what seek ye?
We seek from the hill the vale, And from the vale the hill.
From the ends of the morning, rest; And from the East the West.
In the darkness we seek fire, And out of dreams the heart’s desire! And, if to-day we fail, To-morrow we seek it still.
Are ye not weary, seeking so? Are ye not laden with care?
We are not weary. If our feet be slow, ’Tis with the burden of the Love we bear. It is our longing for the Light we seek Which makes us weak.
Too slow my footsteps move For the goal I seek to prove. My body is a waste, Through which my soul doth haste, Famished until it taste Its nameless new desire! A flame my spirit owns, Ashes are all my bones, Love lights in me such fire! I thirst! my throat is dried! I ask;--am still denied! Cry to be satisfied: Yet only as Love will. Now, if He come not first, Not death, but ease were worst;-- Let me die, thirsting still!