From ship to ship, across the ocean’ breast, The breath of this memorial morning blows, The gladdening gospel, still unwearied, goes On to the princely peoples of the West: And the republics turn their clear young eyes, With reverence aglow, toward a morn That sees at each new step new homage born, And ever hears new anthems skyward rise.
O Christmas Sun! What holy task is thine’ To fold a world in the embrace of God! To spread, where’er thy golden feet have trod, The benediction of His grace divine: To hold the promise of His final plan Blazing before the eves of human-kind, And, at thy setting, leave His love enshrined Anew in the reminded heart of man!
Blind we have been, and blind must ever be, No more foreseeing His eternal good Than that remote, mid-ocean island could Guess noon from dawn’s faint flush across the sea:— And vet our Christmas suns successive smile! Some day, mayhap, the workings of His hand The wisest may begin to understandO patient God, be patient vet awhile!
