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The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.) The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.) The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart, His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world, But here the world's desire.) The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee, His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him, And all the stars looked down.
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