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Ye glorious forms from regions far,
What happy mission brings you here?
And brought you to this shadowy sphere?
Your am'ranth wreaths of starry bloom,
All radiant with ambrosial dews,
Will soon their tinted beauties lose.
Your quiv'ring wings of beamy light
Will droop and fold their tarnish'd plumes;
Will darken in terrestial glooms.
Again the notes symphonious flow,
And, lo! the blest announcement's given,
In all the melody of Heav'n!
Glory to God” sublimely swells,
And rolls in choral thunders round;
On ev'ry tongue with ling’ring sound.,
« Go humble swains,” an Angel said,
(The prostrate shepherds trembling rise) " To lowly Beth'lem's meanest shed,
For there your infant monarch lies.”
A meteor-guide directs their way
They go with mingid hope and fear,
Their glad and costly homage there.
Jesus, though I can never meet
With these, thine advent to behold,
The myrrh, the frankincense, and gold,
With kindred love and equnl joy,
I humble bail thy natal day ;
My tribute of this feeble lay.
C. J. W.