Lights outline a hill
As silently the people,
Like shepherd and angel
On that first morning,
March from Altcloghfin,
Beltany, Rarogan,
Under rimed hawthorn,
Gothic evergreen,
Grouped in the warmth
cloud of their breath,
Along cattle paths
Crusted with ice,
Tarred roads to this
Grey country chapel
Where a gas-lamp hisses
To light the crib
Under the cross-beam's
Damp flaked message:
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS
JOHN MONTAGUE
(from The Bread God, part 111 of The Rough Field, Collected Poems, John Montague, The Gallery Press)
