The stars they shone keen in the deep blue sky,
And the moonlight softly slept
O’er the frozen earth, and the pale cold snow
That chirped as the traveller stept.
Poor Mary sat chilled by her lonely fire,
Her babe in its cradle lay,
As she watched its slumbers with cheerless breast,
On the eve of Christmas day.
“Thy father is yet on the wide, wide sea,”—
Her mournful heart thus sung,—