Classic Poem

Still the angels sing on high,
Still the bearded men draw nigh,
Bringing worship with the morn,
When a little child is born;
Baby-glory in the place,
Star-look on the mother's face,
Psalm within the mother's heart, —
Christmas all in counterpart!

Quaintest wight that ever stirred,
With thy ears that never heard,
Eyes that eye a brand-new world,
Tiny limbs but half uncurled,
Wee-bit Adam! wee-bit Christ!
Earth, by thee new-paradised,
Blooms to miracles again,
Echoes God's " Good-will to men!"

Blessings on the little child
In the cave far-off and wild!
For that nursery divine
Tells me well, O baby mine,
That thou art Emmanuel,
" God with us ," come here to dwell, —
Come to say, " Since time began,
Son of God is Son of Man."