Classic Poem

Holy angels, hovering near me
On your wings of silvery light,
Lo, my Babe is slumbering sweetly
Neath the wind-blown palms to-night;
Hark, they rustle—angels kind,
Hold the branches, calm the wind.

Peace, good palm trees, moaning o'er me,
Beaten by the angry blast;
Silence, silence—here before me,
See, my Child is slumbering fast:
If his rest ye would not break,
Winds, blow softly for his sake.

On the sand, with weeping weary,
Sleeps the blessèd Little One;
Blustering winds and branches dreary
Must not wake my darling Son:
While the moon resplendent glows,
Peaceful be his sweet repose.

Ah, 'tis vain; the night grows colder;
Nought have I of coverings warm:
Shining angels, waxing bolder,
Come and shield this shivering Form:
Spread your wings with soft plumes lined;
Hold the branches, calm the wind.