A simple-hearted child was He, And He was nothing more; In summer days, like you and me, He played about the door, Or gathered, where the father toiled. The shavings from the floor. Sometimes He lay upon the grass, The same as you and I, And saw the hawks above Him pass Like specks against the sky; Or, clinging to the gate, He watched The stranger passing by. A simple child, and yet, I think, The bird-folk must have known, The sparrow and the bobolink, And claimed Him for their own,— They gathered round Him fearlessly When He was all alone. The lark, the linnet, and the dove, The chaffinch and the wren, They must have known His watchful love And given their worship then; They must have known and glorified The child who died for men. And when the sun at break of day Crept in upon His hair, I think it must have left a ray Of unseen glory there, A kiss of love on that little brow For the thorns that it must wear.
The Little Child
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A simple-hearted child was He, And He was nothing more; In summer days, like you and me, He played about the door, Or gathered, where the father toiled. The shavings from the floor. Sometimes He lay upon the grass, The same as you and I, And saw the hawks above Him pass Like specks... |