Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Christmas lyrics

The falling night has roused the bronze of bells. The city wakes with torched and incensed air. Their God is risen from the dead with yells Of joy. In crowds upon a pole they bear His image, as their tread, heavy and blind, Bears hate. On quiet and cramped floors everywhere, Each frightened child of Israel lifts a prayer To Thee, O God of Mercies, to be kind. Beyond the doors and shutters sings the snow. With blinding frost the bright blue heavens gleam. The night from crown on high to loins below Is full of stars and peace. . . only a scream Rips all the peace away from padlocked lives: The cry of blood in terror of their knives.