“Unto you that fear My name shall the Sun of
Righteousness arise with healing in his wings”
Eastward of that awed island mm mid-sea That of all earth first sees the sunrise born, "The slow, sweet smile of the awakening morn Spreads on the heaven's remote gray mystery. Immovable the stately palms out-lean To watch her fingers grope toward the West, Her jewelled feet stepping from crest to crest Of the wind-winnowed wilderness of green!
Only the breakers, with low-whispering lips, Stir the expectant silence of the world. Briefly the standards of the clouds, unfurled By the roused winds, blaze red where ocean dips: Then, of a sudden, on the thin, far air A myriad sword-blades of white light, as one, Flash forth in loyal greeting, and the Sun Steps to the sheer horizon’s final stair!
Glory recalling greater Glory’s rise! O mute majestic monarch of this day Than all days holier; on thy circling way What tears shall not be wiped from mortal eyes! What unimagined kindness not be done By man to man beneath the illumined arch! What benedictions shall not mark thy march Around a world redeemed, O Christmas Sun!
Haloed with tidings of a Saviour’s birth, Bearing His peace and pardon in her hands, "Across the thresholds of successive lands Morn feels her way around the darkened earth: And, as her splendors gradually span Reiterated orients with rose, Where’er night’s curtains at her touch unclose God lays His lips against the lips of man!
