James Monroe Whitfield

The great, the good, the just, the true,

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Hail, glorious morn! whose radiant beams,
Looked down on Christ's nativity,
For every year thy presence teems
With joy and glad festivity.


On Judea's plains th' angelic throng
Burst on the shepherds' awe-struck gaze,
And raised on high a new-made song
Unto their great Creator's praise.


The star of Bethlehem's heavenly light
Guided the wise men from the east,
Who came to lay their power and might,
Their wisdom, at the Saviour's feet.


Oh, may that star's resplendent light
Continue o'er the world to shine,
Till nations now in Pagan night
Shall worship at thy holy shrine.


Till all the people of the earth,
From north to south, from east to west,
Hear tidings of the Saviour's birth,
And bow unto his great behest.


Till superstition's blighting sway
Shall flee before religion's light,
As doth the glorious orb of day
Disperse the shadows of the night.

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James Monroe Whitfield