Star of the East, How Sweet Art Thou

Star of the east

how sweet art Thou

Seen in life’s ear­ly morn­ing sky

Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow

While yet we gaze with child­ish eye;

When fa­ther

mo­ther

nurs­ing friend

Most dear­ly loved

and lov­ing best

First bid us from their arms as­cend

Pointing to Thee

in Thy sure rest.

Too soon the glare of earth­ly day

Buries

to us

Thy bright­ness keen

And we are left to find our way

By faith and hope in Thee un­seen.

What mat­ter? if the way­marks sure

On ev­ery side are round us set

Soon ov­er­leaped

but not obs­cure?

’Tis ours to mark them or for­get.

What mat­ter? if in calm old age

Our child­hood’s star again arise

Crowning our lone­ly pil­grim­age

With all that cheers a wan­der­er’s eyes?

Ne’er may we lose it from our sight

Till all our hopes and thoughts are led

To where it stays its lu­cid flight

Over our Sav­ior’s low­ly bed.

There

swathed in hum­blest po­ver­ty

On chas­ti­ty’s meek lap en­shrined

With breath­less rev­er­ence wait­ing by

When we our sov­er­eign mas­ter find

Will not the long-for­got­ten glow

Of min­gled joy and awe re­turn

When stars ab­ove or flow­ers be­low

First made our in­fant spir­its burn?

Look on us

Lord

and take our parts

E’en on Thy throne of pur­ity!

From these our proud yet gro­vel­ing hearts

Hide not Thy mild for­giv­ing eye.

Did not the Gen­tile Church find grace

Our mo­ther dear

this fa­vored day?

With gold and myrrh she sought Thy face;

Nor didst Thou turn Thy face away.

She too

in ear­li­er

pur­er days

Had watched Thee gleam­ing faint and far

But wan­der­ing in self chos­en ways

She lost Thee quite

Thou love­ly star.

Yet had her Fa­ther’s fin­ger turned

To Thee her first in­quir­ing glance:

The deep­er shame with­in her burned

When wak­ened from her will­ful trance.

Behold

her wis­est throng Thy gate

Their rich­est

sweet­est

pur­est store

(Yet owned too worth­less and too late)

They lav­ish on Thy cot­tage floor.

They give their best—O ten­fold shame

On us their fall­en pro­ge­ny

Who sac­ri­fice the blind and lame—

Who will not wake or fast with Thee!

Discover More Hymns

Explore random hymns and find new inspiration