Magnificat

THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago He lay upon His Mother's knee, Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low-- God's gift to her, as you to me. My baby dear, my little one, The love that rocks this cradling breast Is such as Mary gave her Son: She was more honoured, not more blest. He smiled as you smile: not more sweet Than your eyes were those eyes of His, And just such little hands and feet As yours Our Lady used to kiss. The world's desire that Mother bore: She held a King upon her knee: O King of all my world, and more Than all the world's desire to me! I thank God on the Christmas morn, For He has given me all things good: This body which a child has borne, This breast, made holy for his food. High in high heaven Our Lady's throne Beside her Son's stands up apart: I sit on heaven's steps alone And hold my king against my heart. Across dark depths she hears your cry; She sees your smile, through worlds of blue Who was a mother, even as I, And loved her Child, as I love you. And to her heart my babe is dear, Because she bore the Babe Divine, And all my soul to hers draws near, And loves Him for the sake of mine!