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Their robes were of crimson silk with rows
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.
And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell, And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast, And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at some wayside well.
“Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,
“Good people, I pray you, tell us the news; For we in the East have seen his star, And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews.”
And the people answered, “You ask in vain;
We know of no king but Herod the Great !” They thought the Wise Men were men insane, As they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.
And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing, Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them; And said, “Go down unto Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king.”
So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn; Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David where Christ was born.
And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the
guard, Through the silent street, till their horses turned And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard ; But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.
And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
Of a kingdom not human but divine.
His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Were mingled together in her breast.
They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was a tribute to the King, The frankincense, with
odor sweet, Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body's burying.
And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone; Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne.
Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
THE night was moonless; Judah's shepherds kept
Pursue forever the star-studded lyre;
While thus the shepherds watched the host of night,
Glory to God, benevolence to man,
And some witlı wondering cry the strangers greet, “What! Is this Naomi ?” She quickly broke Upon them trembling, as they thus began, “Call me not Naomi,” she weeping spoke,
For Naomi is numbered with the dead; My name is Mara, for, o friends, with me The Lord hath dealt exceeding bitterly!
"The hand God has touched me, and I mourn;
Charles D. Bell.
THEY GAVE TO THEE.
HEY gave to Thee
Myrrh, frankincense, and gold;
Whom thou redeemedst when we were sold ? We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither;
Vile dirt and clay ;