The sky is dark, the snow descends:Ring, bells, ring out your merriest chime!Jesus is born; the Virgin bendsAbove him. Oh, the happy time!
No curtains bright-festooned are hung,To shield the Infant from the cold;The spider-webs alone are slungUpon the rafters bare and old.
On fresh straw lies the little One,Not in a palace, but a farm,And kindly oxen breathe uponHis manger-bed to keep it warm.
White wreaths of snow the roofs attire,And o'er them stars the blue adorn,And hark! In white the angel-quireSings to the Shepherds, "Christ is born."