Wartime Christmas

Led by a star, a golden star, The youngest star, an olden star, Here the kings and the shepherds are, Akneeling on the ground. What did they come to the inn to see? God in the Highest, and this is He, A baby asleep on His mother’s knee And with her kisses crowned. Now is the earth a dreary place, A troubled place, a weary place. Peace has hidden her lovely face And turned in tears away. Yet the sun, through the war-cloud, sees Babies asleep on their mother’s knees. While there are love and home—and these— There shall be Christmas Day.