| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
|
||
|
THE INFANT JESUS.
When Mary bids Thee sleep Thou sleep'st,
Thou wakest when she calls; Thou art content upon her lap,
Or in the rugged stalls.
Simplest of Babes ! with what a grace
Thou dost Thy Mother's will! Thine infant fashions well betray
The Godhead's hidden skill.
When Joseph takes Thee in his arms,
And smooths Thy little cheek, Thou lookest up into his face
So helpless and so meek.
Yes! Thou art what Thou seem'st to be,
A thing of smiles and tears ; Yet Thou art God, and heaven and earth
Adore Thee with their fears.
Yes! dearest Babe! those tiny hands,
That play with Mary's hair, The weight of all the mighty world
This very moment bear.
While Thou art clasping Mary's neck
In timid tight embrace, The boldest Seraphs veil themselves
Before Thine infant Face. |
||