Silent, to-night, o'er Judah's hills <br />Bend low the angel throng, <br />No heavenly music fills the air <br />Exultantly with song; <br />Yet, close above the sin-scarred earth, <br />Broods still the Love Divine, <br />And through the darkness, as of old, <br />The stars of pity shine. <br /> <br /> <br />Silent, to-night, is Bethlehem: <br />Along the hushèd ways <br />No eager feet of worshippers, <br />No melodies of praise; <br />Yet, in the quietness that fills <br />The waiting hearts of men, <br />The ancient miracle of hope <br />Is wrought, to-night, again. <br /> <br /> <br />O holy Christ! to whom, of old, <br />The wondering shepherds came, <br />The light they sought with flaming joy <br />We seek in contrite shame; <br />And though men strive, we dare to hope <br />That Thou again art born, <br />For, through the night of our despair, <br />Behold! Thy star of morn!<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-eve-1914/
