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Noël

Fauré (1884)

La nuit descend du haut des cieux,
Le givre au toit suspend ses franges,
Et dans les airs, le vol des anges
Éveille un bruit mystérieux.

L'étoile qui guidait les mages,
S'arrête enfin dans les nuages,
Et fait briller un nimbe d'or
Sur la chaumière où Jésus dort.

Alors, ouvrant ses yeux divins,
L'enfant couché dans l'humble crèche,
De son berceau de paille fraîche,
Sourit aux nobles pélérins.

Eux, s'inclinant, lui disent: Sire,
Reçois l'encens, l'or et la myrrhe,
Et laisse-nous, ô doux Jésus,
Baiser le bout de tes pieds nus.

Comme eux, ô peuple, incline-toi,
Imite leur pieux exemple,
Car cette étable c'est un temple,
Et cet enfant sera ton roi!

Victor Wilder

Christmas

 

Night is falling from the highest heavens,
the frost hangs its fringes on the roof,
and in the air, the flight of the angels
arouses a mysterious noise.

The star which guided the Magi,
stops at last in the clouds,
and makes golden halo shine
on the thatched barn where Jesus sleeps.

Then, opening his divine eyes,
the child laid in his humble crib,
from his cradle of fresh straw,
smiles at the noble pilgrims.

They, bowing, say to him: Lord,
receive the incense, the gold and the myrrh,
and let us, o sweet Jesus,
kiss the tips of your little unclothed feet.

Like them, o people, bow down,
follow their pious example,
for this stable is a temple,
and this child will be your king!

© translated by Christopher Goldsack

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