| |
| O LITTLE One who art so great, | |
| To-day there would be weeping skies; | |
| For holy heaven foresees the hate | |
| Against Thee that on earth will rise; | |
| Were not the holy heaven sure | 5 |
| That love will work of hate the cure. | |
| |
| A heart the gladdest and the best | |
| Thou hast, thy Father’s babe and ours; | |
| Smile, little one, in happy rest, | |
| There, wait Thee dark tumultuous hours; | 10 |
| I see them, O, I see them near, | |
| And almost wish Thou wert not here. | |
| |
| I know Thee, Jesus, who Thou art; | |
| But what have we to do with Thee, | |
| That Thou shouldst choose the bitterest part, | 15 |
| And sink Thyself in misery? | |
| Sorrows thy love will steep Thee in, | |
| But sorrows love for Thee will win. | |
| |
| Rest, nurseling, in thine innocence; | |
| King Herod’s dagger cannot slay; | 20 |
| To darker death Thou goest hence, | |
| Toiling along a narrow way, | |
| Which ever leads from bad to worse, | |
| All thorny with an ancient curse. | |
| |
| A curse! O mother, dost thou hear | 25 |
| What must befall thy little son? | |
| Smile, baby, at thy mother’s tear, | |
| The blessing by the curse is won; | |
| Purer than snow will be our gains, | |
| By horror of his crimson stains. | 30 |
| |
