Tis Christmas Eve, and late at night,
my boys have gone to bed.
My wife has, too, and soon, must I,
to rest my sleepy head.
Dreams and scenes of Heav'nly glory,
I pray the Lord would send;
brilliant visions of Gracious love,
for dark and gloom to end.
In dazzling scenes of majesty,
his power, fire and might,
may I see the wondrous vision:
a babe born on this night.
Babe born in the city of bread,
in Virgin's arms held fast,
our Savior, Lord, our King and God,
has come to us at last.
In countenance of that sweet child,
the love for any race
and peace and joy, in my own sons,
are mirrored in each face.
And in that vision shall I sleep
in joy like radiant sun,
the promise that Christ may become,
my children, yes, each son.