Poems (Ford)/The Nativity

For works with similar titles, see The Nativity.

THE NATIVITY

Night walks abroad on Judah's hills,
And spreads her sable mantle wide,
While out to deck her dusky brow
The stars with silvery footsteps glide;
It is the time so long foretold
By Israel's prophet-saints of old.

The shepherds, watching o'er their flocks
Upon the plains of Palestine,
Behold with awe a dazzling blaze
Of heavenly light around them shine,
And hear with joy the angel's voice
Bidding a ransomed world rejoice.

Downward from heaven's pearly gates
In myriads holy spirits throng;
"Glory to God, and peace to men,"
The burden of their joyous song;
While by the star the shepherds led,
Arrive at Bethlehem's lowly shed.

And, lo! the King of Glory there
In a rude manger shivering lies—
A little, helpless babe, with tears
Already in His infant eyes;
Oh, earth, could thy bright homes afford
No fitter shelter for thy Lord?

There the Messiah, looked for long,
Disowned, forsaken by His own,
Begins to feel the world's cold scorn,
And for its countless crimes atone;
His thoughtful eyes already see
The thorny crown, the crimson tree.

The youthful mother lowly kneels
In humble adoration there,
Beside her Saviour and her Son,—
How blest His lowly lot to share,
On earth His childish steps to guide,
And dwell in heaven by His side.

Sweet mother, be our guiding-star;
Lead thou our hearts to Jesus' feet;
For us may the angelic choirs
Their glorious anthem soon repeat;
Reëcho, earth, their song of peace,
Let sin and strife and sorrow cease!

Oh, holy Babe of Bethlehem,
Whose sway is owned on every shore,
Guide in Thy ways our wandering feet,
Rule Thou our hearts forevermore,
That, when from their clay fetters free,
Our ransomed souls may soar to Thee.