As originally published in|
Christmas Eve Snowfall
by Arnold Kenseth
Now snow upon our village lays
Its slow but always sudden white
That gives us warmth by falling cold,
Gives glory to the newborn King.
And angels hover in our trees
Descending from the middle sky,
On blurred, on rising falling wings
As once on happy Bethlehem.
It is an infant, open gift
Placed by our human crib of dark:
Peace on this Eve of violence
Before the rising of the Prince.
Anxious, we watch through our black glass
The flakes fall, swirl in single file,
As sinners pondering free grace
Miss the three kings, the absent Star.
Return to Flashback: Ghosts of Christmases Past
Copyright © 1946 by Arnold Kenseth. All rights
The Atlantic Monthly; January 1946; Christmas Eve Snowfall.