One by one the candles come up the aisle,
Choirboys and men in blue, and ruffs of white,
Rounding out the songs as Christmas gifts
In the far away cathedrals of the world.
All these years later, Lord, are You with us in the crowds,
Watching notes whirling in the windows
Or outside in the cold cloisters
Where the blood red roses lost their petals
In the frost of forgetfulness?
In our hands are the hymn sheets,
The words we take in festive season
But, Lord, Your words are close inside us,
Inscribed in the blood of our hearts,
The knocking beats within.