That Midnight Hour The Virgin Mother kneels upon the floor And holds her baby in her arm, Her heart is gladder than her lips can say, To keep her new born baby snug and warm, A babe more sweet and fair and dear Than any rose bud in the bright sunshine, Whose little eyes look straight into her own, O, blessed maid, God's son is also thine. Twas holy midnight, when He came to earth: As pours a sun ray through a limpid glass, Not leaving any mark upon its face; A drop of dew upon the fresh green grass.
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