The Birth Of Christ





ALFRED TENNYSON



The time draws near the birth of Christ;

The moon is hid--the night is still;

The Christmas bells from hill to hill

Answer each other in the mist.



Four voices of four hamlets round,

From far and near, on mead and moor,

Swell out and fail, as if a door

Were shut between me and the sound.



Each voice four changes on the wind,

That now dilate and now decrease,

Peace and good-will, good-will and peace,

Peace and good-will to all mankind.



Rise, happy morn! rise, holy morn!

Draw forth the cheerful day from night;

O Father! touch the east, and light

The light that shone when hope was born!





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