WHEN the Child played in Galilee, <br />He had no wine-clear maple leaves, <br />No west winds singing of the sea <br />Over the frosted sheaves; <br />But with pale myrrh His head was bound <br />And crowned. <br /> <br />When the Child lived in Nazareth, <br />He watched the golden anise seed, <br />With daisies white in the wind's breath, <br />And hyssop flowering for His need, <br />While the late crocus from the sod <br />Flamed for her God. <br /> <br />When the Child dwelt in Palestine, <br />Over the brooks the willow grew, <br />Olive and aspen, oak and pine, <br />Sweet sycamore and yew, <br />But one dark Tree of all the seven <br />Stood high as heaven.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-child-s-song/
