THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago <br />He lay upon His Mother's knee, <br />Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low-- <br />God's gift to her, as you to me. <br /> <br /> <br />My baby dear, my little one, <br />The love that rocks this cradling breast <br />Is such as Mary gave her Son: <br />She was more honoured, not more blest. <br /> <br /> <br />He smiled as you smile: not more sweet <br />Than your eyes were those eyes of His, <br />And just such little hands and feet <br />As yours Our Lady used to kiss. <br /> <br /> <br />The world's desire that Mother bore: <br />She held a King upon her knee: <br />O King of all my world, and more <br />Than all the world's desire to me! <br /> <br /> <br />I thank God on the Christmas morn, <br />For He has given me all things good: <br />This body which a child has borne, <br />This breast, made holy for his food. <br /> <br /> <br />High in high heaven Our Lady's throne <br />Beside her Son's stands up apart: <br />I sit on heaven's steps alone <br />And hold my king against my heart. <br /> <br /> <br />Across dark depths she hears your cry; <br />She sees your smile, through worlds of blue <br />Who was a mother, even as I, <br />And loved her Child, as I love you. <br /> <br /> <br />And to her heart my babe is dear, <br />Because she bore the Babe Divine, <br />And all my soul to hers draws near, <br />And loves Him for the sake of mine!<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/magnificat-3/
