Advent Christina Rossetti

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This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
         These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
         And still their flame is strong.
"Watchman, what of the night?" we cry,
         Heart-sick with hope deferred:
"No speaking signs are in the sky,"
         Is still the watchman's word.

The Porter watches at the gate,
         The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
         The prize is slow to win.
"Watchman, what of the night?" but still
         His answer sounds the same:
"No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
         Nor pale our lamps of flame."

One to another hear them speak,
         The patient virgins wise:
"Surely He is not far to seek,"--
         "All night we watch and rise."
"The days are evil looking back,
         The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
         But watch and wait for Him."