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.