VIGIL OF THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION
By Maurice Francis Egan
A sword of silver cuts the fields asunder—A silver sword to-night, a lake in June—And plains of snow reflect, the maples under,The silver arrows of a wintry noon.
A sword of silver cuts the fields asunder—A silver sword to-night, a lake in June—And plains of snow reflect, the maples under,The silver arrows of a wintry noon.
A sword of silver cuts the fields asunder—A silver sword to-night, a lake in June—And plains of snow reflect, the maples under,The silver arrows of a wintry noon.
A sword of silver cuts the fields asunder—
A silver sword to-night, a lake in June—
And plains of snow reflect, the maples under,
The silver arrows of a wintry noon.
The trees are white with moonlight and with ice-pearls;The trees are white, like ghosts we see in dreams;The air is still: there are no moaning wind-whirls;And one sees silence in the quivering beams.December night, December night, how warmingIs all thy coldness to the Christian soul:Thy very peace at each true heart is stormingIn potent waves of love that surging roll.December night, December night, how glowingThy frozen rains upon our warm hearts lie:Our God upon this vigil is bestowingA thousand graces from the silver sky.O moon, O symbol of our Lady’s whiteness;O snow, O symbol of our Lady’s heart;O night, chaste night, bejewelled with argent brightness,How sweet, how bright, how loving, kind thou art.O miracle: to-morrow and to-morrow,In tender reverence shall no praise abate;For from all seasons shall we new jewels borrowTo deck the Mother born Immaculate.
The trees are white with moonlight and with ice-pearls;The trees are white, like ghosts we see in dreams;The air is still: there are no moaning wind-whirls;And one sees silence in the quivering beams.December night, December night, how warmingIs all thy coldness to the Christian soul:Thy very peace at each true heart is stormingIn potent waves of love that surging roll.December night, December night, how glowingThy frozen rains upon our warm hearts lie:Our God upon this vigil is bestowingA thousand graces from the silver sky.O moon, O symbol of our Lady’s whiteness;O snow, O symbol of our Lady’s heart;O night, chaste night, bejewelled with argent brightness,How sweet, how bright, how loving, kind thou art.O miracle: to-morrow and to-morrow,In tender reverence shall no praise abate;For from all seasons shall we new jewels borrowTo deck the Mother born Immaculate.
The trees are white with moonlight and with ice-pearls;The trees are white, like ghosts we see in dreams;The air is still: there are no moaning wind-whirls;And one sees silence in the quivering beams.
The trees are white with moonlight and with ice-pearls;
The trees are white, like ghosts we see in dreams;
The air is still: there are no moaning wind-whirls;
And one sees silence in the quivering beams.
December night, December night, how warmingIs all thy coldness to the Christian soul:Thy very peace at each true heart is stormingIn potent waves of love that surging roll.
December night, December night, how warming
Is all thy coldness to the Christian soul:
Thy very peace at each true heart is storming
In potent waves of love that surging roll.
December night, December night, how glowingThy frozen rains upon our warm hearts lie:Our God upon this vigil is bestowingA thousand graces from the silver sky.
December night, December night, how glowing
Thy frozen rains upon our warm hearts lie:
Our God upon this vigil is bestowing
A thousand graces from the silver sky.
O moon, O symbol of our Lady’s whiteness;O snow, O symbol of our Lady’s heart;O night, chaste night, bejewelled with argent brightness,How sweet, how bright, how loving, kind thou art.
O moon, O symbol of our Lady’s whiteness;
O snow, O symbol of our Lady’s heart;
O night, chaste night, bejewelled with argent brightness,
How sweet, how bright, how loving, kind thou art.
O miracle: to-morrow and to-morrow,In tender reverence shall no praise abate;For from all seasons shall we new jewels borrowTo deck the Mother born Immaculate.
O miracle: to-morrow and to-morrow,
In tender reverence shall no praise abate;
For from all seasons shall we new jewels borrow
To deck the Mother born Immaculate.