Hilaire Belloc (1870–1953)

MOST Holy Night, that still dost keep

The keys of all the doors of sleep,

To me when my tired eyelids close

Give thou repose.

And let the far lament of them

That chaunt the dead day’s requiem

Make in my ears, who wakeful lie,

Soft lullaby.

Let them that guard the hornèd Moon

By my bedside their memories croon.

So shall I have new dreams and blest

In my brief rest.

Fold thy great wings about my face,

Hide day-dawn from my resting-place,

And cheat me with thy false delight,

Most Holy Night.