In the Bleak Midwinter

It is now after ten o'clock and the evening wastes away, quickly turning to long night. All seems still. The birds have quitted their chirping. The leaves have stopped dancing in the dull winter sunlight and people have retired to the warmth of their homes, awaiting the dawn of Christmas Day. (And let me mention swiftly the poor who have no place to call home, yet, too, are part of God's great earth.)

I am always touched by the Christina Rosetti poem, "In the Bleak Midwinter." I quote two verses here for they are lovely in their simplicity, picturesque and deep.
The peom has been memorably set to music by Gustav Holst and Harold Darke.




In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

...

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

-- Christina Rosetti, 1872 (Luke 2:8-14)