The first white hill still glistens Beneath the moonlit skies; As on the night of Christmas Untrod it sleeping lies, A new born year is waiting To meet the early dawn: And whisper this to all the world, Another Christmas gone.
The night was cold, but, thankfully, dry, As, at the church, the villagers arrived; They gathered about the bejewelled tree, With their hearts and faces so full of glee.
The rich and the poor, the young and the old All came together, braving the cold; Donning their coats, hats, scarves and gloves, They gathered together in this season of love.
Around the tree, the merry throng Raised their voices in joyful song: They sang of Jesus and of angels singing; Of kings bearing gifts and of church bells ringing.
Their warm breath clouded the frosty air, As, the joy of song, they cheerfully shared; A local brass band played along – Their sound ringing out, sweet and strong.
When the carols were over and the music had died, The merry throng then trooped back inside, Where they were offered a welcome glass of mulled wine, And a deep-filled mince pie on which they could dine.
They had come together and sung as one, And the evening, they agreed, had been immense fun; Spirits were high, as they went their own ways, Having enjoyed singing carols – great songs of praise.