It's the time of year when listening to a child
Becomes a way to pray.
Praise newborn God, we think, all mercy mild,
And may He gain our day.
Before us here a choir of heavenish voices,
Children's voices, say,
As the anthem demands, Our weary world rejoices.
But just what are we to pray?
That we become - as writings prophesy -
As little children? That we hark -
Hearing the carol - as the herald angels sing? They'll fly
Breakneck from innocence to dark-
Tinged wonder, Incarnation flown to Passion.
But singing children - They,
Like Bethlehem's Infant, salve such apprehension.
From the manger where He lay,
The center of a universe now blessed,
A childlight charges every note and rest.