Poems (Tynan)/The Christmas Babe
THE CHRISTMAS BABE
All in the night when sleeping I lay in slumber's chain, The Christmas Babe came weeping Outside my window-pane. The Christmas Child whom faithless Men turn from their hearthstone—My dream was dumb and breathless, The Christmas Babe made moan.
The small hands beat impatient Upon my close-locked door. The small hands they have fashioned The world, the stars, and more. He heard no sound of coming, His cries broke wild and keen, The Christmas Babe went roaming For one to take Him in.
A burning bush of splendour The Christmas Child doth take; Like some meek bird and tender Caught in a golden brake. I listen long to hear Him Come crying at my door; Voices of night I fear them, And He comes by no more.