Classic Poem

“Then sleep, Thou little Child.” Thus, sweet and high,
The choir-boys sang, on Christmas Eve when men,
With dim-lit manger and with lullaby,
Pretend that Jesus is a child again.
Like candles, flickering soft, their voices went,
Or any light which is not of the sun;
Like sound whose large vibrations have been spent,
Or pale-gold texture all too thinly spun.
A woman's voice without her joy and fear
The tiny boys wove sheerly to and fro—
No woman could have sung so light and clear
The crooning words which only women know.
Mary must wonder and, remembering, weep
To hear these babies sing Her Child to sleep.