Poems (Proctor)/Christmas Eve at Bethlehem
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 climbAs on that rarest night of timeWhen 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 flightBurn 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 hoursWith Aves until midnight's chimeShall usher in the day sublime,Thronging the nave of Helena;Or seek the crypt, their holiest quest, To read upon its stones imprest,"Hic Jesus Christus natus est,"And kneel to kiss the pavement star!The silver lamps swing to and fro;The monks in long procession go,Slow-winding round the altar stair;But crypt and shrine are mute and bare;The Christ is gone, the glory fledThat shone above his manger-bed,And the pale monks but mourn him there.Without, beside the guarded gate—The gate that fronts the rising sun—No lordly emirs reverent waitWith gifts to hail the new-born King;No shepherds from their pastures runTo see the babe the angels sing,But all is hushed and desolate;Only the Christ-thorn in the hedge,The chill wind's sigh by Kedron's edge—The snow-wind blown from Lebanon.
And are we then forgot, bereft,Because no host the sky has cleft?No glory shone above the plainWhere burst the high, seraphic strain?No wise men journeyed o'er the woldWith myrrh and frankincense and goldTo greet the Babe of ParadiseIn the low cradle where he lies?Nay! what do we with song or gem? Since that immortal night went byThe whole earth is our Bethlehem;Hosannas ring from every sky!In forest glade, on billowy main,Judea's height, Nebraska's plain,—By any shore or mount or seaWhere faith and hope and love abideAnd self is lost in sacrifice,There the celestial gates swing wideAnd heaven descends to human eyes;There Christ the Lord is born again;There is his new Nativity!
Who sorrows for a vanished dawnWhen east and west proclaim the sun?Welcome be Bethlehem's silent lawn,Its songless skies and shadows dun,The Christ-thorn rustling in the hedge,The chill wind's sigh by Kedron's edge—The snow-wind blown from Lebanon!