The poem
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 hornàed 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.