Perhaps it was a silent night–
the cries of the oppressed stifled;
the tears of the rejected hushed.
and perhaps the sky was clear–
no solace of cleansing
or droplet’s refrain.
Perhaps the town lay still as death;
perhaps the shepherds heard the breath
of angels in their misery
all seated on the ground.
Perhaps the Gloria did resound
o’er silent ever-greening trees.
Perhaps He did not shed a tear.
But I believe when Love came near
It was to clamor and dismay–
He heard the stifled cries
of the bereft on Christmas day;
Unspoken prayers of bitter loss
were his first lullabies.
And even if the sky, unwept,
was clear of any cloud–
The first song of the cross
when Love first cried aloud.