Like small curled feathers, white and soft,
The little clouds
went by,
Across the moon, and past the stars,
And down the
western sky:
In upland pastures, where the grass
With frosted dew
was white,
Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay,
That first, best
Christmas night.
The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,
With twist of
thin, blue smoke,
Only their fire's crackling flames
The tender silence
broke—
Save when a young lamb raised his head,
Or, when the night
wind blew,
A nesting bird would softly stir,
Where dusky olives
grew—
With finger on her solemn lip,
Night hushed the
shadowy earth,
And only stars and angels saw
The little
Saviour's birth;
Then came such flash of silver light
Across the bending
skies,
The wondering shepherds woke, and hid
Their frightened,
dazzled eyes!
And all their gentle sleepy flock
Looked up, then
slept again,
Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars
Brought endless
Peace to men—
Nor even heard the gracious words
That down the ages
ring—
The Christ is born! the Lord has come,
Good-will on earth
to bring!
Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields,
Dumb with the
world's great joy,
The shepherds sought the white-walled town,
Where lay the baby
boy—
And oh, the gladness of the world,
The glory of the
skies,
Because the longed-for Christ looked up
In Mary's happy
eyes!
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