The Feast of the Snow

There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim,
And never before or again,

DSC_0004When the nights are strong with a darkness long,
And the dark is alive with rain.

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Never we know but in sleet and snow
The place where the great fires are,

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That the midst of earth is a raging mirth,
And the heart of the earth a star.

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And at night we win to the ancient inn,
Where the Child in the frost is furled,

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We follow the feet where all souls meet,
At the inn at the end of the world.

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The gods lie dead where the leaves lie red,
For the flame of the sun is flown;

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The gods lie cold where the leaves are gold,
And a Child comes forth alone.

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—G.K. Chesterton’s The Feast of the Snow

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