Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift! <br />We need not wander more but enter with our gift; <br />Our gift of finest gold, <br />Gold that was never bought nor sold; <br />Myrrh to be strewn about his bed; <br />Incense in clouds about his head; <br />All for the Child who stirs not in his sleep. <br />But holy slumber holds with ass and sheep. <br /> <br />Bend low about his bed, for each he has a gift; <br />See how his eyes awake, lift up your hands, O lift! <br />For gold, he gives a keen-edged sword <br />(Defend with it Thy little Lord!), <br />For incense, smoke of battle red. <br />Myrrh for the honoured happy dead; <br />Gifts for his children terrible and sweet, <br />Touched by such tiny hands and <br />Oh such tiny feet.<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/here-is-the-little-door/
