Here they foot it, pacing slow,
Monk-like, one behind another!--
Don't you hear me? Don't you know
I'm a little nervous, Brother?
Won't you speak? Then, by your leave,
Here's a guest for Christmas Eve!

Shrive me, but I got a fright!
Monks of centuries ago
Wander back to see to-night
How the old place looks.--Hello!
This the kind of watch you keep!
Come to pray--and go to sleep!

Ah, this mortal flesh is weak!
Who is saintly there's no saying.
Here are tears upon his cheek,
And he sleeps that should be praying;--
Sleeps, and dreams, and murmurs. Nay,
I'll not wake you.--Sleep away!

Holy saints, the night is keen!
How the nipping wind does drive
Through yon tree-tops, bare and lean,
Till their shadow seems alive,--
Patters through the bars, and falls,
Shivering, on the floor and walls!

How yon patch of freezing sky