Just before him rose a mountain,
Dark its outline, steep its side --
Down its slopes that midnight music
Seemed so soothingly to glide.
"I will find it," said the pilgrim,
"Though this mountain I must scale" --
Scarcely said, when on his vision
Shone a distant light, and pale.
Glad he was; and now he hastened --
Brighter, brighter grew the ray --
Stronger, stronger swelled the music
As he struggled on his way.
Soon he gained the mountain summit,
Lo! a church bursts on his view:
From the church that light was flowing,
And that gentle music, too.
Near he came -- its door stood open --
Still he stood in awe and fear;
"Shall I enter spot so holy?
Am I unforbidden here?
I will enter -- something bids me --
Saintly men are praying here;
Vigils sacred they are keeping,
'Tis their Matin song I hear."
Softly, noiselessly, he glided
Through the portal; on his sight
Shone a vision, bright, strange, thrilling;
Down he knelt -- 'twas Christmas night --
Down, in deepest adoration,
Knelt the lonely pilgrim there;
Joy unearthly, rapture holy,
Blended with his whispered prayer.
Wrapped his senses were in wonder,
On his soul an awe profound,
As the vision burst upon him,
'Mid sweet light and sweeter sound.
"Is it real? is it earthly?
Is it all a fleeting dream?
Hark! those choral voices ringing,
Lo! those forms like angels seem.
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