THE CRESCENT MOON
LAST night I saw a crescent moon
Hang slimly silver in the sky;
A white cloud floated very near,
A star of gold was hovering by.
I watched and watched them through the night
And wished they were not hung so high.
I think the moon a cradle was
In which the little Lord lay sleeping;
The cloud a downy, fleecy quilt
Kept chill and cold from near Him creeping;
The star, a golden angel's eye,
Was watch and ward above Him keeping.
ON Christmas Eve I lie awake
Far, far, I'm sure, into the night,
And watch until a golden star
Floods all my little room with light.
Some shepherds in the days of old
Watched, just like me, that star of gold.
And as I lie there in the gloom
I tell myself the Christmas story,
And how the little Savior Christ
Forsook for us His state and glory,
And came a little, lovely child
To save the earth, so sin-defiled.
And bye and bye my rooms grow vast,
The golden star shines close and clearer;
And music that seemed far and faint,
Drifts in about me near and nearer.
The bells in myriad churches ring,
And, Hark! the Herald Angels sing!
Published in The Brownies' Book, December 1920