Oh! what great thing is done to-night,
Or what good news has sped?
What ails the blessèd Saints in heaven,
They cannot rest in bed?
But up and down so ceaselessly
They go in joy and dread.
The gate-house all is lighted up,
Wherein Saint Peter dwells;
Saint James looks out of his great house,
All made of oyster shells;
In his good hostel by the flood
Saint Julian rings the bells.
Saint Catherine wears her silver shoes
And pearl-besprinkled gown;
Saint Barbara from her high, high tower
Upon the earth looks down;
Saint Christopher bends wondering eyes
On David’s distant town.
The Angels’ chanting sounds afar
An ancient waterfall;
They do not listen to their strain,
Nor answer to their call;
Their thoughts are on the little earth,
Not in the heavenly hall.
For there they see a lovelier thing
That is beyond the sky;
They see the little Lord of Heaven
Upon His hard bed lie;
Their hearts are filled with wonder for
The Change of the Most High.
R. L. GALES