Happy thou, a winter comer,
Happier with the snows around thee
Than if rosy-fingered summer
In thy cradle-nest had crowned thee.
Tender is the night, and holy:
Little clouds, like cherub faces,
Up the moon path, drifting slowly,
Vanish in the heavenly spaces.
Clothed in splendor, past our earth night,
Sphere on sphere is chanting Nowel:
Child, thy birthnight keeps a Birthnight
Dearest in all Time's bestowal!
He who slept within a manger
Guards the pillow thou art pressing—
Sent thee hither, little stranger,
Blest—to be our Christmas Blessing!