Hilaire Belloc

The Night

  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 horned moon
  By my bedside their memories croon.
  So shall I have new dreams and blest
      In my brief rest.

  Fold your great wings about my face,
  Hide dawning from my resting-place,
  And cheat me with your false delight,
      Most Holy Night.