10,10,10,10,7,7

Cosmas, the Melodist, 760

musterion zenon.

O wondrous mystery, full of passing grace!

The grot becometh Heav'n: the Virgin's breast

The bright Cherubic Throne: the stall that place,

Where He, Who fills all space, vouchsafes to rest:

CHRIST our GOD, to Whom we raise

Hymns of thankfulness and praise!

The course propitious of the unknown Star

The Wise-men followed on its heavenly way, --

Until it led them, beckoning from afar,

To where the CHRIST, the King of all things, lay:

Him in Bethlehem they find,

Born the SAVIOUR of mankind.

"Where is the Child," they ask, "the new-born King,

Whose herald-light is glittering in the sky, --

To Whom our offerings and our praise we bring?"

And Herod's heart is troubled utterly.

Armed for war with GOD, in vain

Would he see that Infant slain.