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Wife men directed to Christ by a Star, worship and offer presents
. A Radiant Star whose kind and friendly Beams
Against Fudca dart their golden Streams. Three Eastern Magi from their Country brings ; Wise-Men they were, or at the least were Kings. Their Royal Presents in their Hands behold, The Sun's rich Birth, Myrrh, Frankincense, and
Gold : With these the Monarch of both Worlds they meet, These and themselves they proftrate at his Feet. Thus were fulfill'd those weighty Truths foretold In mystic, Holy Oracles of old : That Facob's Star should in the Orient rise, And with amazing Splendor gild the Skys; Whence Kings shou'd to his rising Brightness flow, Sabem Odours round his Altars throw Exhaust their Treasures to increase his Store, And bent profound to Earth the King of Kings
1. Behold, there came Wife-men from the East to Jerusalem,
2. Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Fews? for we have seen his Star in the East, and are come to worship him, &c.
10. When they far the Star, they rejoyced with exceeding great joy;
11. And when they were come into the house, they faw the young child with Mary his Mother, and
fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their Treasures, they presented unto him Gifts; Gold, and Frankincense, and Myrrh.
The Flight of Joseph and Mary
THE Royal Strangers now divinely warn’d
Herod avoid, and privately return'd:
Sleep'ft thou, O Son of David! (thus he said)
He rose, he fled, he bore his Charge away,
13, The Angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a Dream, saying, Arise and take the young child and bis Mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou where until I bring thee word : for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.
14. When he arosé, be took the young child and his Mother by night, and departed into Egypt,
15. And was there until the death of Herod : that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the Prophet, saying, Out of Egypt have I çalled my Son,
Herod's Anger, and the Slaughter of
Hen the fierce King the Magi did deceive,
And unresolv'd his curious Malice leave; Nor shall he 'scape my Sword, enrag‘d he cry'd, Tho' all his Angels warding by his Side: Nor unartended shall he go, for all The Infants with their Childish Prince shall fall : Let Bethlehem mourn! Hafte! Hafte, my Guards,
he cries, If one escapes with Life, who spares him dies. Too soon his bloody Ministers obey, Nor moves ill Fate it felf more swift than they. The Mothers Shreeks, th' expiring Infants Groans, Who broach'd on Spears, or pafh'd against the
Stones, Or whelm'd in Waves resign their tender Breath, Form the last Image of Despair, and Death. Thus Rachel did her Childrens Loss deplore: They're gone, for ever gone, and Joy is now no