Peaceful in the village
Darkness reigns and sleep,
Every hut is standing
Snowed in window deep.
Out upon the highway
Hushed and empty all,
Now the howling watch dogs
Even, silent fall.
After their day's labor
Young and old are pressed
Weak and worn, on their hard
Narrow place of rest.
In one cottage only
Shines a lamplight, where
A sick old hoary-head
Groans in soul-despair.
Death is near,—and of her
Grandchildren thinks she,
Smitten sore the orphans
Harvest time will be.
Ah the poor, poor children!
Now so young for strife,
All untried and helpless
In the woe of life!
Among stranger people
Older they will grow—
Evil hearts will lure them
Evil ways to go.
With disgrace too early
They will make a bond,
Shamed and God forsaken
Sink unto the ground.
Dear God, thyself take them,
Thy forsaken poor—
Staff and light be to them
Thyself evermore!
And the sacred lamplight
Calm and silent strays;
On the holy pictures
Fall its trembling rays;