Vainly we offer each ample oblation, Vainly with gifts would his favor secure; Richer by far is the heart's adoration, Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid: Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. REGINALD HEBER. * * * * * ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of heaven's eternal king, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring-- For so the holy sages once did sing-- That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious form, that light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of majesty Wherewith He wont at heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome Him to this His new abode-- Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far upon the eastern road The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet! Oh! run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at His blessed feet; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel choir, From out His secret altar touched with hallowed fire. THE HYMN. It was the winter wild While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies-- Nature, in awe to Him, Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize; It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame. Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw-- Confounded that her maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. Nor war, or battle's sound, Was heard the world around-- The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hookèd chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.