The Western Window: The Nativity

Sweet sounds on high this night have birth,
And sounds as sweet on earth ;
Where Heaven is heard, from a bright stooping cloud,
With music ringing loud :
Less than angelic voice might well be mute,
Such more than Heavenly theme to suit.

The stars of night are drawing near,
Each on his crystal sphere,
That Angel's voice to hear ;
And, from their mazy rout,
That walks the Heavens about,
They send a silver scout,
A glowing pursuivant,
To lead the hearts and eyes
Of men celestial wise,
To where, around the homely shed of want,
The infinite deep skies their legion'd squadrons plant.

See, the rays, His brows adorning,
Are the light of endless morning,
From that lowly cradle shining ;
O'er the Heaven-born Babe reclining,
With a more than speaking gaze
Blending joy with dread amaze,
Hangs the holy Mother-maid :
While, within the darker shade,
Comes there round a wond'ring group,—
Some gaze, and some adoring stoop ;
And the ox with horned brow
Stands beside ; and, bending low,
He whose shoulders graven deep
Aye his Master's mark shall keep,
Unconscious that their Lord is there,
Their heritage of pain to bear.

See throughout the casement drear
The old mountains standing near :
Is it Heaven, or is it earth,
Which is gathering round His birth ?

For within the womb of night
There hath sprung unwonted light :
Lo, where, startled at the day,
Darkness looks into the room :
And, afar, within the gloom
War and Rapine haste away
From light, around His childhood streaming ;
And, with half-averted brow,
Pride is hast'ning down below,
'Mid the darker shadows gleaming.

Hasten with light-footed glee,
Let us join the jubilee,
Where the shepherd and the king,
And angelic squadrons sing ; —
Over sea, and over land,
Knitted in one brother's band ;
Where the joyous accents run,
Never ending, ne'er begun,
And the Heavens take up the song,
With harmonious thunders strong,
And twice ten thousand worlds the wondrous theme prolong.