WHEN our babe he goeth walking in his garden, Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; The posies they are good to him, And bow them as they should to him, As fareth he upon his kingly way; And birdlings of the wood to him Make music, gentle music, all the day, When our babe he goeth walking in his garden. When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle, Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down; The little stars are kind to him, The moon she hath a mind to him, And layeth on his head a golden crown; And singeth them the wind to him A song, the gentle song of Bethle'm town, When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JUDITH by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A VISION OF THE VOICE OF YAHVEH by AMOS THE FIRST FIRE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SACRIFICE SELF-COMPENSATED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 10 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH SUMMER by WILLIAM ASPENWALL BRADLEY |