 | Laurella and other poems |  |
148
THE CHRIST-CHILD.
The Christ-child came to my bed one night,
He came in tempest and thunder;
His presence woke me in sweet affright,
I trembled for joy and wonder;
He bore sedately his Christmas-tree,
It shone like a silver willow,
His grave child's eyes looked wistfully,
As he laid a branch on my pillow.
He came in tempest and thunder;
His presence woke me in sweet affright,
I trembled for joy and wonder;
He bore sedately his Christmas-tree,
It shone like a silver willow,
His grave child's eyes looked wistfully,
As he laid a branch on my pillow.
And when he had left me alone, alone,
And all the house lay sleeping,
I planted it in a nook of my own,
And watered it with my weeping.
And there it strikes its roots in the earth,
And opens its leaves to heaven;
And when its blossoms have happy birth
I shall know my sins forgiven.
And all the house lay sleeping,
I planted it in a nook of my own,
And watered it with my weeping.
And there it strikes its roots in the earth,
And opens its leaves to heaven;
And when its blossoms have happy birth
I shall know my sins forgiven.
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