Carol - Thomas Merton

Flocks feed by darkness with a noise of whispers,
in the dry grass of pastures,
and lull the solemn night with their weak bells.

The little towns upon the rocky hills
look down as meek as children
because they have seen come this holy time.


God's glory, now, is kindled
gentler than the low candlelight
under the rafters of a barn:
eternal peace is sleeping in the hay,
and wisdom's  born in secret
in a straw-roofed stable.

And O! make holy music in the stars,
you happy angels,
you shepherds,gather on the hill.
Look up, you timid flocks,
where three kings are coming
through the wintry trees:

While we unnumbered children
of the wicked centuries
come after with our penances and prayers,
and lay then down in the sweet smelling hay
beside the wise men's jars.