THE DAY WAS when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee; and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd, unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon many a fleeting moment of my life. And to-day when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature, I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memory of joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten. Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust, and the steps that I heard in my playroom are the same that are echoing from star to star.
A RAY OF morning sun strikes aslant at the door. The assembled crowd feel in their blood the primaeval chant of creation: 'Mother, open the gate!' The gate opens. The mother is seated on a straw bed with the babe on her lap, Like the dawn with the morning star. The sun's ray that was waiting at the door outside falls on the head of the child. The poet strikes his lute and sings out: 'Victory to Man, the new-born, the ever-living.' They kneel down,the king and the beggar, the saint and the sinner, the wise and the fool,and cry: 'Victory to Man, the new-born, the ever-living.' The old man from the East murmurs to himself: 'I have seen!'
