Poetry Archives

Babe Jesus lay in Mary’s lap,
    The sun shone in his hair;
And this was how she saw, mayhap,
    The crown already there.

For she sang: “Sleep on, my little king;
    Bad Herod dares not come;
Before thee sleeping, holy thing,
    The wild winds would be dumb.”

“I kiss thy hands, I kiss thy feet,
    My child, so long desired;
Thy hands will never be soiled, my sweet;
    Thy feet will never be tired.”

“For thou art the king of men, my son;
    Thy crown I see it plain!
And men shall worship thee, every one,
    And cry, Glory! Amen!”

Babe Jesus he opened his eyes wide—
    At Mary looked her lord.
Mother Mary stinted her song and sighed;
    Babe Jesus said never a word.