Winds of Judea
Blow softly tonight;
Stars lend your glory
Of blue-misted light;
Small birds awake
From sleep-curled wing-
The hour is at hand
For the birth of a King.
Small town of Bethlehem
Open your door,
So cruelly closed
To His coming before.
Throw wide its portals,
Let wearied men meet,
Humble as shepherds
To kneel at His feet.
No comments:
Post a Comment