Classic Poem

A night when wastes of uplands wan were grey with silvering snow,
A shed that shouldered back the blast one dark night long ago
When panted on his mother's breast the little life and new.
Shepherds and kings kneel here alike, and shall I not kneel too
I see no formless temple-god white pontiffs laud and pray,
I only see the happy face look out among the hay,
O son of Mary, starry-eyed,
Hear but my cry, my heart has cried,
I find thee thus today.

A night when stormy midnight heard the jar of staves and swords,
A night that past all mortal ken, was darkness and the Lord's
When coward kings and hierarchs bore down a lonely man.
And shall I fail him in his need, that slave and sophist can.
I cannot meter the ages trend, the kingdom's gain or loss,
I only hear the pale priests shout, I see the dim crowds toss,
By rich men sold, by kings denied,
O carpenter, O crucified
Count on one striver at thy side,
One watcher at thy cross.

A night, tonight, a thousand nights be ages mad or mild
Shall man show reason to the sage from love of man or child