The Little Christ
MOTHER, I am thy little Son —
Why weepest thou ?
Why weepest thou ?
Hush ! for I see a crown of thorns,
A bleeding brow,
A bleeding brow,
Mother, I am thy little Son —
Why dost thou sigh ?
Why dost thou sigh ?
Hush! for the shadow of the years
Stoopeth more nigh!
Stoopeth more nigh!
Mother, I am thy little Son —
Oh, smile on me.
The birds sing blithe, the birds sing gay,
The leaf laughs on the tree.
Oh, smile on me.
The birds sing blithe, the birds sing gay,
The leaf laughs on the tree.
Oh, hush thee! The leaves do shiver sore
That tree whereon they grow,
I see it hewn, and bound, to bear
The weight of human woe!
That tree whereon they grow,
I see it hewn, and bound, to bear
The weight of human woe!
Mother, I am thy little Son —
The Night comes on apace —
When all God’s waiting stars shall smile
On me in thy embrace.
The Night comes on apace —
When all God’s waiting stars shall smile
On me in thy embrace.
Oh, hush thee! I see black starless night!
Oh, could’st thou slip away
Now, by the hawthorn hedge of Death, —
And get to God by Day!
Oh, could’st thou slip away
Now, by the hawthorn hedge of Death, —
And get to God by Day!