Oh, setting sun, had you no aureole?
And, winter stars, had you no song that night,
When leafless branches, clicking in the wind,
Wrote shadow phrases in your frosty light?

Rough-timbered cabin in the wilderness,
Had you no thought you sheltered from the cold
A child whose life would bless the lives of men
Until humanity and earth grow old?

And, valiant mother of a newborn son,
Had you no intimation of your fate?
Or did you cradle in your arms a child
Which God and you were certain would be great?

Oh, setting sun, had you no aureole?
—And, winter stars, had you no song that night,
When leafless branches, clicking in the wind,
—Wrote shadow phrases in your frosty light?

Rough-timbered cabin in the wilderness,
—Had you no thought you sheltered from the cold
A child whose life would bless the lives of men
—Until humanity and earth grow old?

And, valiant mother of a newborn son,
—Had you no intimation of your fate?
Or did you cradle in your arms a child
—Which God and you were certain would be great?