Classic Poem

I

O FAIR Lord Christ, when yet thy face was young
 In heaven, and thy witnesses were few,
 Humble thy Kingdom here, nor yet grace drew
Emperors to the breast where Lazarus clung,—
When round a dying world thy arms were flung,—
 Armenia first unto thy mercies flew,
 To the pure gospel through all ages true,
And Him, whose sorrows on the world's cross hung.

She, who beheld the glorious covenant,
 When o'er the Flood, at the Creative Word,
 Bright above Ararat sprang the bow in heaven,—
What to her agony will thy pity grant?
 For unto her through faith in thee, O Lord,
 The thorny crown of Christendom is given.
II

Bring , all ye nations, myrrh and frankincense,
 As when, with gold and many an orient gem,
 About the cradled child of Bethlehem
Like heaven the holy stable glittered, whence
Issued salvation! Pour the providence
 Of earthly kingdoms at the feet of them
 Who would a world-wide flood of sorrow stem
And, Christ-like, feed the multitude immense!

Nor think Armenia only bears the Cross
 Through deserts wild and up her mountain-chain;
 But every nation climbs its Calvary,
And hath its consecration; earthly loss
 Thousands on thousands find is heavenly gain:
 So the world-soul renews humanity.