Have all your passionate cries 'Gainst solid-seeming skies Shivered and fallen in mocking echoes back? Does prayer in vain assail? Do tears for nought avail? Does the bright maze of stars all language lack? A world where struggles, griefs, desires, Make streams in hell but light not heaven's fires? Blesséd, O Shepherds, ye, Who now the glory see, Though still your flock for vision unalert! Light lifted not too high, Nor opening quite the sky, Yet quickening skyward yearnings long inert; Yea, making pathways for the feet To find the spot where earth and heaven meet! Blesséd, again, since, borne Unto a world forlorn, Heaven's herald comes, yet no-wise alien! Of heaven the cross-like wings, Yet man's the voice that rings, Human the eyes that meet the eyes of men; Human the feet that seek the ground; Human the hands that scatter light around! O Star, with heaven-born beams, Awake us from our dreams! O clothed with light, miraculous messenger, Set us upon the way To greet the coming day, Where, worshipping the Very Light, it were Foretaste of Heaven's eternal peace-- Of earth's unquiet wanderings surcease! Shepherds, forget your fear! The dawn, the dawn is near! Though upstart Herod and the Roman might Combine with all the tribe Of faithless priest and scribe To quench in mists of unbelief the light, The long-expected King's at hand, To rule in peace and righteousness the land! Say you the vision fades, While all around the shades Creep coldly on and all your courage dies? Go forth, while round you ring Strains ye heard angels sing When all heaven flashed upon your startled eyes. For though your vision fade away, 'Tis but that dawn may broaden into day. The Child your eyes shall see, As yet laid lowlily, Not yet full-statured risen to the skies-- Not yet with tongue that speaks, Not yet with arm that breaks The iron fetters of earth's tyrannies-- Is earnest of the struggle won, And all life's shadows smitten of the sun. Oh, once again the tale Makes faith o'er doubt prevail! Oh, once again the vision wakes to deeds That god-like grow and shine Till, grown to the divine, Man soars to heights beyond where doubt impedes, And in one glimpse of Heaven's glory He reads the fulness of the human story. IX. No Room in the Inn _A picture of two contrasted abodes. On one side is the Inn, the House of Chimham, crowded with revelers whose ideal is expressed by Herod. On the other side is the humble crib where angels are finding fellowship with ox and ass in adoration of the Christ Child._ No Room in the Inn _The Angel Gabriel speaks:_