midnight
How sweet the sacred legend -- if unblamed In my slight verse such holy things are named -- Of Mary 's secret hours of hidden joy , Silent , but pondering on her wondrous boy ! Ave , Maria ! Pardon , if I wrong Those heavenly words that shame my earthly song ! The choral host had closed the angel 's strain Sung to the midnight watch on Bethlehem 's plain ; And now the shepherds , hastening on their way , Sought the still hamlet where the Infant lay . They passed the fields that gleaning Ruth toiled O'er , They saw afar the ruined threshing-floor Where Moab 's daughter , homeless and forlorn , Found Boaz slumbering by his heaps of corn ; And some remembered how the holy scribe , Skilled in the lore of every jealous tribe , Traced the warm blood of Jesse 's royal son To that fair alien , bravely wooed and won . So fared they on to seek the promised sign That marked the anointed heir of David 's line . At last , by forms of earthly semblance led , They found the crowded inn , the oxen 's shed .