II.
“Sweet-sounding bells, blithe summoners to prayer!”[173]
The answer man can yield not ye bestow:
Your answer is a little Infant, bare,
Wafted to earth on night-winds whispering low.
Blow him to Bethlehem, airs angelic, blow!
There doth the Mother-Maid his couch prepare:
His harbor is her bosom: drop him there
Soft as a snow-flake on a bank of snow.
Sole Hope of man! Sole Hope for us—for thee!