Classic Poem

For your joy do the long grasses rustle, the tree-tops stir
Where the wind moves eagerly through the pine and the fir;
Alert for your coming the woods and the meadows all wait;
The buttercups grow and the turtle calls to his mate.

And God for your clothing fashioned in patience the sun,
A cloak wrought of glory and fire where dreadful dyes run,
Saffron and crimson and sapphire and gold, as is meet;
And stars to be set on your head and stars under your feet.

For you, His most lovely of daughters, the mighty God bowed
From heaven to give you your dowry of sunset and cloud;
And splendid in light and in worship were Gabriel's wings,
When he breathed in your bosom the hope of impossible things.

Sudden and dear was the secret he whispered to you,
Of one who should quietly fall to the earth with the dew;
As dew that at night in the valleys distils upon fleece,
With no shattering trump did He come but in terrible peace.

In your hands that are sweeter than honey, in all the wide earth
God laid the desire of the nations, their home and their mirth,
And gave to your merciful keeping man's joy and man's rest,
And under incredible skies a babe at your breast.

And though the stars wane and the royal deep colours should fade,
Yet still shall endure in the heart and the lips of a Maid,
The sweep of the archangel's pinions—the humble accord—
The song—the dim stable—the night—and the birth of the Lord!

For your joy do the long grasses rustle, the tree-tops stir
Where the wind moves eagerly through the pine and the fir;
Alert for your coming the woods and the meadows all wait;
The buttercups grow and the turtle calls to his mate.