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.


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

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


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

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


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

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


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


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