Holy Angels, And Blest
Holy angels, and blest,
Through these palms as ye sweep,
Hold their branches at rest,
For my Babe is asleep.
And ye, Bethlehem palm-trees,
As stormy winds rush
In tempest and fury,
Your angry noise hush;
Move gently, move gently,
Restrain your wild sweep;
Hold your branches at rest,
My Babe is asleep.
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