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Eugene Field - Christmas Eve 1914
Work rating: Medium

Silent, to-night, o`er Judah`s hills
     Bend low the angel throng,
No heavenly music fills the air
     Exultantly with song;
Yet, close above the sin-scarred earth,
     Broods still the Love Divine,
And through the darkness, as of old,
     The stars of pity shine.


Silent, to-night, is Bethlehem:
     Along the hushèd ways
No eager feet of worshippers,
     No melodies of praise;
Yet, in the quietness that fills
     The waiting hearts of men,
The ancient miracle of hope
     Is wrought, to-night, again.


O holy Christ! to whom, of old,
     The wondering shepherds came,
The light they sought with flaming joy
     We seek in contrite shame;
And though men strive, we dare to hope
     That Thou again art born,
For, through the night of our despair,
     Behold! Thy star of morn!
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