“Mene, Tekel,” dost thou write?
Nay, thou bright Star in the East,
O’er no haughty monarch’s feast,
Prophet nor Chaldæan priest,
Doth thy gentle radiance shine;
Nobler resting-place is thine,
’Tis a Baby’s brow divine.
With the waning of the year
From afar thou dost appear,
Telling us that Christ is near.