Читать книгу Poems of Adoration - Michael Field E. - Страница 6

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WITH me, laid upon my tongue,

As upon Thy Mother’s knee

Thou wert laid at Thy Nativity;

And she felt Thee lie her wraps among.

Tenderest pressure, dint of grace,

All she dreamed and loved in God,

As a shoot from an old Patriarch’s rod,

Laid upon her, felt by her embrace.

O my God, to have Thee, feel Thee mine,

In Thy helpless Presence! Love,

Not to dream of Thee in power above,

But receive Thee, Little One divine!

As the burthen of a seal

May give kingdoms with its touch,

Lo, Thy meek preponderance is such,

I am straight ennobled as I kneel.

Teach me, tiny Godhead, to adore

On my flesh Thy tender weight,

As Thy Mother, bowing, owned how great

Was the Child that unto us she bore.