Carol for Christmas Eve

The sun sets bright­ly in the sea

Foreknowing what his morn shall be

And dreams through­out the dawn­ing night

Of ris­ing on the Source of Light.

Born with cre­ation

he must wane

When Ed­en is re­vealed again;

Now is his man­hood’s lus­ty prime

The noon and tri­umph­ing of Time.

The day has end­ed mild and calm

The sea wind scarc­ely sways the palm;

The ol­ive trees beneath the hill

Sleep

in its fold­ing

hushed and still.

Above

the tow­ers of Beth­le­hem

Fade in the night that falls on them

Yet hold in guard the roc­ky steep

That Re­ho­bo­am bade them keep.

They ov­er­look the length­en­ing vale

That stretch­es to the Dead Sea pale

And far be­yond

to east­ern plains

Where Am­mon now no long­er reigns.

O ci­ty small

’mid Ju­dah’s host

Now grow­ing to her crown and boast;

How high at morn thy head shall be

For earth shall bow to hal­low thee!

The land of God

His peo­ple’s home

Is cap­tive to im­pe­ri­al Rome;

Necks that were proud of Da­vid’s sway

Have stooped to Cæ­sar’s

and ob­ey.

The tribes

that did to­ge­ther meet

To serve their God with joy­ful feet

Are or­dered home at Cæ­sar’s word

And tax­èd by a for­eign lord.

Joseph

a man in low­ly life

With Ma­ry his es­pous­èd wife

Had tra­veled far to Beth­le­hem—

A branch was he of Da­vid’s stem.

No place for those of low de­gree

Could in that crowd­ed ci­ty be;

And ev­en at the low­ly inn

No room could they

no wel­come

win.

So where the cat­tle rest at night

Oh

hap­py they to see such sight!

Poor in all else but love and grace

The vir­gin had her dwell­ing place.

She sits be­side the porch of stone;

With gold­en blue the ev­en­ing shone;

The tim­id stars come

one by one

Incredulous that day was done.

Well Ma­ry knew their forms on high

And loved their gen­tle com­pa­ny

When Jo­seph led the night­ly way

From Na­za­reth

and shunned the day.

While Ma­ry watch­es by the door

Behold! a star un­known be­fore

Mounts slow­ly up the west­ern sky

And then she knows her hour is nigh.

Like John the Bap­tist’s ear­ly word

Which rose be­fore

and with

His Lord

That star

which goes be­fore His face

Doth preach His beau­ty

light and grace.

The vir­gin lifts her hands above

Her eyes are tears

her heart is love;

She sees the joy she could be­lieve

And prays the pray­er of Christ­mas Eve.