PROLOGUE.
Since Love first looked on life with human eyes,
Twixt him and us time like a curtain lies.
Of all the years while He made life His own
With dear familiar touch—how little’s known!
The gospels of His Birth, the tale make plain
Then two years till He died and rose again,
Naught else remains to us of all, save when
He, at Jerusalem, with learned men
Was by His parents found, and taken thence