A gathering train, crowding from lane and street,
To lay love’s homage at the Child-Christ’s feet.
A soft gleam from the church’s windows fell
Across the square, as if in peace to tell
Of light less clouded shining pure within,
Of peace more eloquent cleansed souls should win.
As, with the thronging crowd, my feet drew near
The open doorway whence the light streamed clear,
The accents of a language not my own
Broke through the hurrying footsteps’ monotone—