Advent by Christina Georgina Rossetti This Advent moon shines cold and clear, These Advent nights are long; Our lamps have burned year after year And still their flame is strong. 'Watchman, what of the night?' we cry, Heart-sick with hope deferred: 'No speaking signs are in the sky,' Is still the watchman's word. The Porter watches at the gate, The servants watch within; The watch is long betimes and late, The prize is slow to win. 'Watchman, what of the night?' But still His answer sounds the same: 'No daybreak tops the utmost hill, Nor pale our lamps of flame.' One to another hear them speak The patient virgins wise: 'Surely He is not far to seek'- 'All night we watch and rise.' 'The days are evil looking back, The coming days are dim; Yet count we not His promise slack, But watch and wait for Him.'