Classic Poem

A Little Child, the prophet said,
Shall lead them.
To the manger bed,
Where the old legend bids us go
To seek Thee, Little One, how slow
Our feet turn!
Ah! but dim to-day
And tangled for us is that way.
No angel voices from the sky
Carol Thy sweet nativity:
No star leads onward steadfast, bright,
For all our watching through the night.

Yet we are wondrous wise, they say.

Yea, near and far, we know to-day
Secrets the ages knew not: all
Earth's mysteries we unveil and call
To do our hest, till time and space
Stand chained in service to our race.

And yet, and yet, ascends the cry,
— See, lust, and greed, and cruelty,
— Here under some fair-sounding name,
— Here shamelessly, their victims claim! —
Nor still for all our wits and wealth
Gain we soul's wisdom, body's health.

Ah! look, Man, to thyself within:
Search there the secret that should win
A world disordered back to grace:
Yea, look on thine own self face to face:
Nor dream to give the world thy best,
Till beats a child's heart in thy breast.