WHEN God's own child came down to earth, High heaven was very glad; The angels sang for holy mirth; Not God himself was sad! Shall we, when ours goes homeward, fret? Come, Hope, and wait on Sorrow! The little one will not forget; It's only till to-morrow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FETES GALANTES: ROMANCES SANS PAROLE, SELECTION by PAUL VERLAINE DINING-ROOM TEA by RUPERT BROOKE A SEA SONG by ALLAN CUNNINGHAM PAST AND PRESENT by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON CORONATION by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON PER PACEM AD LUCEM by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER HERE LIES A LADY by JOHN CROWE RANSOM |