O holy night! The stars are brightly shining, It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining Till He appear’d and the soul felt its worth. Shivers went down Clay-Boy’s back. He had heard the hymn since he was a baby, carried to church in his mother’s arms, but he had never heard it sung this way before. Hawthorne crooned the song, stroked and caressed it with tenderness, letting his voice cling to the melody, elongating the last line as if reluctant to let it go, until the feeling and the events the song described seemed to be taking place now and here
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