Here he sleeps, -- oh how sweetly! and smiles in his sleep,
The lovely child.
Here sleeps the child from the tribe of the shepherd David.
Here sleeps upon soft clover, upon freshly mown flowers
The God of the shepherds.
 
   Yes, yes! the God of the shepherds.
Soon one shall see torrents of milk upon all the meadows,
Where lambs walk with their mothers.
The rocky cliffs pour down oil.
The golden harvests burst forth
From unplowed soil.
From hollow willows beside the brooks
Honey runs into the waters.
When Mount Tabor and Mount Hermon
Shroud themselves in new blossoms,
Mount Carmel yonder lifts its crown heavy with fruits.
The mule-driver ties his foal
To a grape vine
And washes the hem of his garment
In the blood of the grape.
 
        Shepherds from the golden age,
      Blow your flutes, strike your strings!
      May your daily work be joy,
      May your life be singing!
 
   God of the shepherds, whose might
Creates from the deserts of Sin and Kadesh
A garden of God,
Ah! with what tongues
Shall your praise be sung? --
Take my joy as your praise,
My joy shall be my recompense.
 
        Shepherds from the golden age,
      Blow your flutes, strike your strings!
      May your daily work be joy,
      May your life be singing!
 
   The lion dandles in his claws
The little lamb;
From one enclosure come the cows, the lionesses,
And their young play therein:
For Shiloh pastures, and His staff
Is gentle and peace is the girdle of His reins.
 
   The bows are broken,
The wagons have been burned;
The swords are scything grain;
The lance of the warrior stands and becomes rooted in the land,
And strives into the air, and becomes an olive tree once more:
For Shiloh pastures, and His staff
Is gentle and peace is the girdle of His reins.
 
        Return once more, lovely peace!
      Make Creation
      As it was in the meadows of Eden!
      It is weary of its conflict.
 
        Return once more, lovely peace!
      Come from the throne of your God,
      To which of yore you fled!
      We are weary of our conflict.
 
  May earth and Heaven be as they once were,
A single song, a single choir!
 
   From now on pestilence shall not
Skulk about in darknesses;
The hot noonday shall not kill,
And shall bring no plagues.
Jehovah rides through Heaven,
And sees His blessed race.
Harmlessly His bronze wagon
Rolls on high above our heads;
We see Majesty and say:
"Jehovah shall be enthroned in Heaven,
"And our Shiloh shall dwell with His shepherds."
 
        Most beautiful child from the seed of Juda,
      Grow soon!
      So that soon the wide circle of the earth,
      May become a Heaven,
      Thy blessed Land.
 
        Praise, ye mute ones! Leap, ye lame,
      Like the deer through the forest!
      Hear, ye deaf ones, our songs!
      Blind ones, see Creation once more!
      Pain and vexation have been banished.
 
        Most beautiful child from the seed of Juda,
      Grow soon!
      So that soon the wide circle of the earth,
      May become a Heaven,
      Thy blessed Land.
 
   Ah see! the child awakens.
A God shines forth from His eyes.
Ah! what a God! --
He treads on Magog’s torso:
Blood clings to his heel,
The spirits from the old night
Plunge back into their chasm;
The chasm closes behind them:
The world is purified, Creation smiles.
 
   No, no son of earth --
The Firstborn Son of God
Was heralded in this midnight
By Eloa, the highest
Of the Seraphims.
Shuddering, we lay upon the ground:
Suddenly it was light.
An entire host of transfigured sons of Heaven
Stood upon the air and sang:
 
      Should I forget this song
      In the course of my whole life,
      Then must my tongue
      Cleave to my palate.
 
Strike up the song of the higher realm!
So that our hero,
The newborn Saviour, hears it.
 
      Glory to God in the highest!
      Peace upon earth!
      And goodwill toward men!