THE BABE OF BETHLEHEM
By Condé Benoist Pallen
O cruel manger, how bleak, how bleak!
For the limbs of the Babe, my God;
Soft little limbs on the cold, cold straw;
Weep, O eyes, for thy God!
Bitter ye winds in the frosty night
Upon the Babe, my God,
Piercing the torn and broken thatch;
Lament, O heart, for thy God!
Bare is the floor, how bare, how bare
For the Babe's sweet mother, my God;
Only a stable for mother and Babe;
How cruel thy world, my God!
Cast out, cast out, by his brother men
Unknown the Babe, my God;
The ox and the ass alone are there;
Soften, O heart, for thy God!
Dear little arms and sweet little hands,
That stretch for thy mother, my God;
Soft baby eyes to the mother's eyes;
Melt, O heart, for thy God!
Waxen touches on mother's heart,
Fingers of the Babe, my God;
Dear baby lips to her virgin breast,
The virgin mother of God.
