The heavens are black, the earth is white; Ring out, wild joy-bells, to the skies! Jesus is born; the Virgin bright Bends o'er Him with enraptured eyes. Around the mystic infant's head No fold of slumberous curtain streams; Only the spider's airy thread Drops from the stable's dusty beams. The Baby, nestling in the straw, Thrills with the cold in every limb; The ox and ass, in seeming awe, Kneel down and warmly breathe on Him. O'er that thatched hovel in the night Heaven opens, dazzling as the morn, While bands of Angels, clothed in white, Sing to the shepherds, "Christ is born." |