Silent Night
Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Saviour is born
Christ, the Saviour is born
Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth "
Far
beyond the ocean, in a valley in the Austrian Alps, lies the age-old village of
Oberndorf, looking now much as it did one, two, or three hundred years ago. In
the center of the village, near a swift-flowing stream, stands a whitewashed
church with a tall red-topped steeple. The low houses, their slanting roofs
weighted down with stones, are scattered about the church like so many baby
chicks around a red-combed white hen; and the church bell calls to them from
the steeple in a quick, excited hen-like tone.
In the days of our story only
peasants and a few artisans lived in Oberndorf, with an occasional trader
coming in “from outside.” There were but two educated people in the village:
Father Joseph Mohr, the twenty-six-year-old parish priest, and Franz Xaver
Gruber, the organist and schoolteacher. Both being young and “from outside,”
they soon became fast friends, and every Sunday they met to make music. As
Gruber sang the bass parts to Father Mohr’s tenor and played the accompaniment
on the guitar, the children gathered in the street before the rectory and
nudged one another: “Listen, the priest and the teacher are singing again.”
They enjoyed these informal weekly concerts.
On the twenty-fourth of December, 1818,
Father Mohr sat alone in his study, reading his Bible. The sun had set behind
the western mountains, and the blanket of snow draping their peaks had turned a
steely blue-gray above the black forest, except where the first stars cast
their silvery gleams on them. All through the valley the children were filled
with excitement, for it was Christmas Eve and they would be staying up to
attend Midnight Mass.
The young priest, sitting at his
oaken study table and working on his sermon for the midnight service, had no
eyes for the festively lighted valley just then. He had read chapter after
chapter and had come to the story of the shepherds in the fields to whom the
angel announced: “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, that shall be
to all the people. For, this day, is born to you a Savior.”
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