From the Associate

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O, weary, weary is 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.                         

GK Chesterton

We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem;
The dumb kine from their fodder
Turning them,
Softened their horn'd faces,
To almost human gazes
Toward the newly Born:

The simple shepherds from the
Star-lit brooks
Brought visionary looks,
As yet in their astonished hearing rung
The strange sweet angel-tongue:

The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
Knelt reverent, sweeping round,
With long pale beards, their gifts
Upon the ground,
The incense, myrrh, and gold
These baby hands were impotent
To hold:

So let all earthlies and celestials wait
Upon thy royal state.
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning