WHISPERING PALMS.
Holy angels and blest,
Through these Palms as ye sweep,
Hold their branches at rest,
For my Babe is asleep.
And ye, Bethlehem palm-trees,
As stormy winds rush
In tempest and fury
Your angry noise hush;—
Move gently, move gently,
Restrain your wild sweep;
Hold your branches at rest—
My Babe is asleep.
Lope de Vega.