e air around was as the breathing-air
Of a queen's chamber, when she comes to bed,
And all that glad earth owns gives goodlihead.

Witness them entering,--these three from afar--
Who knew the skies, and had the strange white star
To light their nightly lamp, thro' deserts wide
Of Bactria, and the Persic wastes, and tide
Of Tigris and Euphrates; past the snow
Of Ararat, and where the sand-winds blow
O'er Ituraea; and the crimson peaks
Of Moab, and the fierce, bright, barren reeks
From Asphaltities; to this hill--to thee
Bethlehem-Ephrata! Witness these three
Gaze, hand in hand, with faces grave and mild,
Where, 'mid the gear and goats, Mother and Child
Make state and splendor for their eyes. Then lay
Each stranger on the earth, in the Indian way,
Paying the "eight prostrations;" and was heard
Saying softly, in the Indian tongue, that word
Wherewith a Prince is honored. Humbly ran,
On this, the people of their caravan
And fetch the gold, and--laid on gold--the spice,
Frankincense, myrrh: and next, with reverence nice,
Foreheads in dust, they spread the precious things
At Mary's feet, and worship Him who clings
To Mary's bosom drinking soft life so
Who shall be life and light to all below.
"For, now we see," say they, departing: "plain
The star's word comes to pass! The Buddh again
Appeareth, or some Boddhisat of might
Arising for the west, who shall set right,
And serve and reconcile; and, maybe, teach
Knowledge to those who know. We, brothers, each,
Have heard yon shepherds babbling: if the sky
Speaketh with such, heaven's mercy is drawn nigh!
Well did we counsel, journeying to this place!
Yon hour-old Babe, milking that breast of grace,
The world will praise and worship, well-content."

Then, fearing Herod, to their homes they went
Musing along the road. But he alway
Angered and troubled, bade his soldiers slay
Whatever man-child sucked in Bethlehem.
Lord! had'st Thou been all God, as pleaseth them
Who poorly see Thy godlike self, and take
True glory from Thee for false glory's sake:
Co-equal power, as these--too bold--blaspheme,
Ruler of what Thou camest to redeem;
Not Babe Divine, feeling with touch of silk
For fountains of a mortal Mother's milk
With sweet mouth buried in the warm feast thus,
And dear heart growing great to beat for us,
And soft feet waiting till the way was spread
Whereby what was