BETHLEHEM

O ye who sail Potomac's even tide To Vernon's shades, our Chieftain's hallowed mound;Or who at distant shrines high paeans sound In Alfred's cult, old England's morning pride;Or seek Versailles, conceited as a bride, With garish memories of kins strewn round;Or lay your spirit's cheek on Forum ground, For here a mighty Caesar lived and died:

To these and other stones, O ye who speed, Since there, forsooth, a prince was passing great, More zealous let your heart's adoring heed The Child most Royal in a crib's estate.

No poor so poor, no king more king than He:

Come, better pilgrims, to this mystery.