This is late, alas! but better than never; my Christmas poem.
The incense fills the midnight air,
A scented song, a perfumed prayer;
And rich and sweet in harmony
The choir's carols rise, and flee.
This night, the dearest night of all,
When Christ was cradled in a stall,
We kneel to celebrate again
And hear once more the angel strain:
"All glory be to God on high,
And peace to good-willed men," we cry
And in the silence of the night
The angels echo from the height
To praise, to bless, to glorify,
To give thanks for God's glory high.
Blest may this night forever be
When Christ was born of Mary free!