Oh! were I borne in spirit to the time

Which now the progress of my task hath won;

That era long foretold by seers sublime,

When, born of woman, God's incarnate Son

Came to atone for folly, sin, and crime,

And ransom man, without his aid undone;

Fulfilling in himself each sign and rite,

And making known his gospel's glorious light!

Who, plac’d on such ideal eminence,—

But many a thoughtful glance must round him cast?

Viewing, as with an eye of faith intense,

Now the more shadowy glories of the past,

Sublimely grand in dark magnificence,

And splendidly imposing to the last;—

Then, turning from them, trembling, to survey

The gentler dawning of the gospel day.

In calm effulgence rises Bethlehem's Star

Over the yet untravell’d holy ground;

There Calv’ry's hill uplifts its Cross afar,

As with a diadem of brightness crown’d,

Majestic beauty with no cloud to mar,

Like those which hover’d Sinai's heights around:—

And here the Mount of Olives to the sky

Uprears its leafy coronal on high.

How lovely, yet how solemn is the scene!

Scene worthy of the truths which wait us there;

And hark the silent intervals between,

In silvery tones float on the midnight air,

Glad songs that hail the new-born Nazarene!

Songs in which angel hosts with transport share;

Such as no more shall fall on mortal ears,

’Till heavenly music shall untune the spheres.