Poems (Hale)/The Son of God

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE SON OF GOD.

  Not within palace-halls
   The holy Infant lay;
And yet upon those lowlier walls.
   Beamed a celestial ray;
For there God's well-beloved Child
Reposed, the holy, undefiled!

  Not on a downy bed.
   Did the Redeemer lie;
He had not where to lay his head
   Beneath that Eastern sky;
And yet earth's desert wastes he trod,
One with his Father and his God;—

  One in that holy love
   Which his whole nature filled:
His was the meekness of the dove;
   Yet from his lips distilled
Wisdom which earth can never reach,—
Wisdom which Heaven alone can teach.

  Sin had no power to dim
   The radiance of his brow:
Earth with its glories tempted him,
   His soul they could not bow;
But the unsounded depths of truth
Fed the glad fountains of his youth.

  Within his soul he bore
   God's undisputed sign;
His seal upon his brow he wore,
   Mysterious, yet divine.
Angels of spotless purity
Left their bright homes his guard to be.

  The blind received their sight
   At his commanding word:
Guided by truth's celestial light,
   The soul's far depths he stirred.
The earth gave back its icy dead;
Disease his mandate heard, and fled.

  Saviour! be thou my guide,
   My refuge and my rest!
Cast down the pillars of my pride,
   And in my humbled breast
Erect the temple of thy grace;
And on its shrine thy signet trace.