Poetry Archives

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,
  His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
  But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast,
  His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
  But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,
  His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
  But here the world’s desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary’s knee,
  His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at him.
  And all the stars looked down.