Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find him out?

Star.—No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest,
A princely babe, in's mother's breast.

Oh! lovely voices of the sky
  Which hymned the Saviour's birth,
Are ye not singing still on high,
  Ye that sang, "Peace on earth";
  To us yet speak the strains
  Wherewith, in time gone by,
  Ye blessed the Syrian swains,
  Oh! voices of the sky!

Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams
  That hour Heaven's glory shed,