O CHRIST, born on the holy day, <br />I have no gift to give my King; <br />No flowers grow by my weary way; <br />I have no birthday song to sing. <br /> <br /> <br />How can I sing Thy name and praise, <br />Who never saw Thy face divine; <br />Who walk in darkness all my days, <br />And see no Eastern stars a-shine? <br /> <br /> <br />Yet, when their Christmas gifts they bring, <br />How can I leave Thy praise unsung? <br />How stay from homage to the King, <br />And hold a silent, grudging tongue? <br /> <br /> <br />Lord, I found many a song to sing, <br />And many a humble hymn of praise <br />For Thy great Miracle of Spring, <br />The wonder of the waxing days. <br /> <br /> <br />When I beheld Thy days and years, <br />Did I not sing Thy pleasant earth? <br />The moons of love, the years of tears, <br />The mysteries of death and birth? <br /> <br /> <br />Have I not sung with all my soul <br />While soul and song were mine to yield, <br />Thy lightning crown, Thy cloud-control, <br />The dewy clover of Thy field? <br /> <br /> <br />Have I not loved Thy birds and beasts, <br />Thy streams and woods, Thy sun and shade; <br />Have I not made me holy feasts <br />Of all the beauty Thou hast made? <br /> <br /> <br />What though my tear-tired eyes, alas! <br />Won never grace Thy face to see? <br />I heard Thy footstep on the grass, <br />Thy voice in every wind-blown tree. <br /> <br /> <br />No music now I make or win, <br />Yet, Lord, remember I have been <br />The lover of Thy world, wherein <br />I found nought common or unclean. <br /> <br /> <br />Grown old and blind, I sing no more, <br />Thy saints in heaven sing sweet and strong, <br />Yet take the songs I made of yore <br />For echoes to Thy birthday song.<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-hymn-2/
