MARY AT NAZARETH

I know, Lord, Thou hast sent Him —

Thou art so good to me!—

But Thou hast only lent Him,

His heart's for Thee!

I dared — Thy poor hand-maiden —

Not ask a prophet-child:

Only a boy-babe laden

For earth — and mild.

But this one Thou hast given

Seems not for earth — or me!

His lips flame truth from heaven,

And vanity

Seem all my thoughts and prayers

When He but speaks Thy Law;

Out of my heart the tares

Are torn by awe!

I cannot look upon Him,

So strangely burn His eyes —

Hath not some grieving drawn Him

From Paradise?

For Thee, for Thee I'd live, Lord!

Yet oft I almost fall

Before Him — Oh, forgive, Lord,

My sinful thrall!

But e'en when He was nursing,

A baby at my breast,

It seemed He was dispersing

The world's unrest.

Thou bad'st me call Him “Jesus,”

And from our heavy sin

I know He shall release us,

From Sheol win.

But, Lord, forgive! the yearning

That He may sometimes be

Like other children, learning

Beside my knee,

Or playing, prattling, seeking

For help — comes to my heart....

Ah sinful, Lord, I'm speaking —

How good Thou art!