From Bethlehem Blown
Great is the tumult of men's anger grown,
Of hate exalted and of love defiled;
But hark, on gentle airs from Bethlehem blown,
Rise clear the tender accents of a Child!
A little Child — and yet the voice of dread
Is stilled, greed shamed as wrath and envy are:
Hate's sword is sheathed; the tyrant bows his head,
As sudden on earth's darkness streams a star!
Great is the tumult of men's anger grown,
— Of hate exalted and of love defiled;
But hark, on gentle airs from Bethlehem blown,
— Rise clear the tender accents of a Child!
A little Child — and yet the voice of dread
— Is stilled, greed shamed as wrath and envy are:
Hate's sword is sheathed; the tyrant bows his head,
— As sudden on earth's darkness streams a star!
Of hate exalted and of love defiled;
But hark, on gentle airs from Bethlehem blown,
Rise clear the tender accents of a Child!
A little Child — and yet the voice of dread
Is stilled, greed shamed as wrath and envy are:
Hate's sword is sheathed; the tyrant bows his head,
As sudden on earth's darkness streams a star!
Great is the tumult of men's anger grown,
— Of hate exalted and of love defiled;
But hark, on gentle airs from Bethlehem blown,
— Rise clear the tender accents of a Child!
A little Child — and yet the voice of dread
— Is stilled, greed shamed as wrath and envy are:
Hate's sword is sheathed; the tyrant bows his head,
— As sudden on earth's darkness streams a star!
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