Christmas Eve at Christmas Hills by Kathleen Dalziel

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Here are no merry bells achime,  
   No midnight carols heard;   
Only the windmill's clanking rhyme,   
   The slow creek's whispered word;
The cricket songs of summer time,
   The calling of a bird.   

Yet one may think on Bethlehem,  
   Nor deem it very far,
Where little fields the farmstead hem
   And flocks all drowsy are;
Where in the green west like a gem
   Hangs one grave, lovely star.

The sleeping range and valley wear
   So soft an air and mild,
Somewhere up in the sky I heal  
   A black swan's bugle wild.   
And, past the lighted window square,
   The laughter of a child.

And Love comes in that little gate
   And all his gifts receive,   
Where heavenly peace and quiet wait
   Day's burden to relieve --
We need no bells to celebrate
   Our own sweet Christmas Eve.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 24 December 1938

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on December 24, 2014 9:22 AM.

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