Toward Bethlehem

Toward that sweet city where the Virgin mild Brought forth her Child Fain would I turn upon this Christmas day, And softly pray That I might see the place wherein he slept, While Mary kept Her watch and ward about His sacred bed, And kissed His head; And I would pray that I might see His face In that poor place, And be a shepherd or a worshipper, Bringing my myrrh Unto the little Babe who is my King-- Heaven's offering; Bringing my frankincense and all the gold That earth doth hold. And I would kiss the crib wherein He is, And I would kiss The little swaddling-clothes that wrap his form Safe, safe and warm. O little city far beyond the sea! 'Tis not for me To journey unto you. Here must I bide This Christmas-tide. Hush! tho' wide wastes divide us, still near me Your walls may be, And I can dream of you, and shut mine eyes And see arise The little manger-bed where once He lay So far away. And I can love Him just the same as tho' Across the snow I came toward you on that first Christmas night, Led by love's light, And laid my gifts before Him. Now, as then, With those wise men, I too can journey o'er the midnight hill, Weary, until I worship Him and feel Him at my side This Christmas-tide.