Mystic Trees by Michael Field [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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IN ARMS |
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63
IN ARMS
Those mysteries I count the best
Where the young Child is found
Laid in thy lovely arms to rest,
Or held of thee and crowned.
Where the young Child is found
Laid in thy lovely arms to rest,
Or held of thee and crowned.
And first of the Nativity
I love the joyous guise;
And all the music sung to thee
Is of thy Infant's cries.
I love the joyous guise;
And all the music sung to thee
Is of thy Infant's cries.
The Aves tremble on our lips,
The Aves are unsaid;
For, see, the gentle mother slips
Her Jesus in His bed.
The Aves are unsaid;
For, see, the gentle mother slips
Her Jesus in His bed.
And we with her must bend to Him,
And on our knees must sink—
That bed of His the Angels rim
As swallows come to drink.
And on our knees must sink—
That bed of His the Angels rim
As swallows come to drink.
Thy little One is still in arms
When Simeon stands by,
And saddeneth thee with cruel charms,
And blesseth tearfully.
When Simeon stands by,
And saddeneth thee with cruel charms,
And blesseth tearfully.
The Lamb is to the slaughter come—
How softly He consents!
Now must thou home with Him, and hum,
And ponder God's intents.
How softly He consents!
Now must thou home with Him, and hum,
And ponder God's intents.
| Mystic Trees | |