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Dark, Most Sacred Night
The breeze blows soft amid the desert air.
With sweet perfume
the palm tree sways.
Oh, He is born - Immanuel Lord
Safe, the young child sleeps
While stable beasts, wise men surround his crib.
With gladsome voice, the angels sing;
He is born - Immanuel Lord
Light, the light of all the earth is here
Beside the tiny babe the mother of the world gives praise;
Oh, He us born
Most sacred night.
poem by Lynne Kositsky
