Classic Poem

Let the gates of night unbar
Before the bright and morning star,
Let the shining Seraphim
Chant the Christ-Child's cradle hymn,
Let the innocent and wise
Join that carol from the skies.
Let the little children sing
At Thy cradle, Christ our King.

Songs of prophets from of old
Sung by saints on harps of gold,
Blent with triumph and with tears,
Trembling through two thousand years,
All that life of love and pain
Wakes and walks the earth again,
While the little children sing
At Thy cradle, Christ our King.

Till Thy coming! In that hour
Of Thy majesty and power
When the star of steadfast ray
Brightens to the perfect day, —
When the heavens shall shout and when
The earth shall answer, " Peace, Amen. "
Let the little children sing
At Thy Triumph, Christ our King.