10,10,10,10,7,7
Cosmas, the Melodist, 760
musterion zenon.
O wondrous mystery, full of passing grace!
The grot becometh Heav'n: the Virgin's breast
The bright Cherubic Throne: the stall that place,
Where He, Who fills all space, vouchsafes to rest:
CHRIST our GOD, to Whom we raise
Hymns of thankfulness and praise!
The course propitious of the unknown Star
The Wise-men followed on its heavenly way, --
Until it led them, beckoning from afar,
To where the CHRIST, the King of all things, lay:
Him in Bethlehem they find,
Born the SAVIOUR of mankind.
|Where is the Child,| they ask, |the new-born King,
Whose herald-light is glittering in the sky, --
To Whom our offerings and our praise we bring?|
And Herod's heart is troubled utterly.
Armed for war with GOD, in vain
Would he see that Infant slain.