From "The Poetry Of Freemasonry" by Rob Morris
The Orient gleams with starry beams, the Star of Christ is up;
It guides us on our pilgrimage, it points the Nation's Hope;
It points the flowery way of life, there's joy in every beam,
And we shall surely find at last the Babe Of Bethlehem.
The generations of the dead have gone this way before;
The Star to them, as unto us, immortal tidings bore;
They bade farewell to earthly things, they counted all things dross,
And found immortal glory in the burden of the Cross.
And we have seen the Eastern Star break through the shadows dim;
And, led by this, have hastened here to serve and worship Him, —
The Lamb Of God, th' Eternal Word, the Lily and the Sun,
And the strong Lion, that shall raise the dead when all is done.
We follow fast, we follow far, we follow while we live,
We never cease, through weariness, the Worship that we give.
We only crave to find at last, beyond the shadows dim,
Our Rest and our Salvation in the Babe Of Bethlehem.
Then gleam, O Star, forever,
And lead us on to God!
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