By Mildred Goff
The night is hideous with noise of battle in the east.
Deck the hall with boughs of holly for the Christmas feast.
A million homes are desolate; a million mothers grieve.
God rest you, merry gentlemen, for this is Christmas Eve.
The bombers tear the night apart, their thunder shakes the sky.
Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!