CHRISTMAS EVE AT BETHLEHEM.
The Christ-thorn rustles in the hedge,
The chill wind sighs by Kedron's edge—
The snow-wind blown from Lebanon;
And though, o'er Moab's mountain wall,
The stars in orient splendor climb
As on that rarest night of time
When Jesus for the world was won,
Yet never Bethlehem's height or vale,
Though shepherds watch till stars grow pale—
Nays, till the latest evening fall—
Will see an angel's radiant flight
Burn through the splendor of the night,
Or hear that seraph-song again,
"On earth be peace, good will toward men!"
Only the Christ-thorn in the hedge,
The chill wind's sigh by Kedron's edge—
The snow-wind blown from Lebanon.
The chill wind sighs by Kedron's edge—
The snow-wind blown from Lebanon;
And though, o'er Moab's mountain wall,
The stars in orient splendor climb
As on that rarest night of time
When Jesus for the world was won,
Yet never Bethlehem's height or vale,
Though shepherds watch till stars grow pale—
Nays, till the latest evening fall—
Will see an angel's radiant flight
Burn through the splendor of the night,
Or hear that seraph-song again,
"On earth be peace, good will toward men!"
Only the Christ-thorn in the hedge,
The chill wind's sigh by Kedron's edge—
The snow-wind blown from Lebanon.
White, through the gloom, the convent towers,
Where tearful pilgrims count the hours
With Aves until midnight's chime
Shall usher in the day sublime,
Thronging the nave of Helena;
Or seek the crypt, their holiest quest,
Where tearful pilgrims count the hours
With Aves until midnight's chime
Shall usher in the day sublime,
Thronging the nave of Helena;
Or seek the crypt, their holiest quest,
