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THE VICTIM
31
A holy silence reigned around,
And hushed was every voice,
When in the crib the Cross was found,
The Infant-Victim's choice.
As moonbeam on a mountain-mere
The Mother's face was white;
Her eyes were stars, and every tear
Gave lustre to their light.
Methinks a blushing moon looked down
Upon that manger-bed,
And wove a mystic glory-crown
Around the Sleeper's head.
