THE CHRIST-CANDLE

’Tis Holy Night in the hamlet olden, Darkness lowers her curtain down; With fingers of sleep the eyes are holden, Naught is awake in the dreaming town. Shineth one light in a cottage window, Set for the Christ-child’s tender feet, Lest that they stumble, lest that they falter, Passing to-night thro’ the silent street. Shine, sweet light, from thy humble dwelling, Brightly beam on the toilsome way; Long must he journey—the darling Christ-child— Far and far has he still to stray. II The world is asleep and the world is weary, Scarce it remembers the Holy Night; Error and wretchedness, sinful, dreary, Cover and darken the spirit-sight. Stay not to come to us, blesséd Christ-child, Tho’ we be slumbering, tho’ we forget, Tho’ they be scanty, the lights that await thee, Heavenly Messenger, stay not yet! Here is my light in my true heart’s window, Angel of Christmastide, come to me; If thou wilt enter so lowly a chamber, Here shall thy home and thy shelter be.