Hail to thee, thou holy Babe, In the manger now so poor, Yet so rich Thou art, I ween, High within the highest door. Little Babe who art so great, Child so young who art so old, In the manger small His room Whom not heaven itself could hold. Motherless, with mother here, Fatherless, a tiny span, Ever God in heaven's height, First to-night becoming man. Father--not more old than thou? Mother--younger, can it be! Older, younger is the Son, Younger, older, she than he. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAN IN A ROOM by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS PENITENTIAL PSALM: 143. DOMINE EXAUDI by THOMAS WYATT A FRAGMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ODE TO WORK by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS OF MAIDENS' PRAISE: AN INVOCATION by SAINT ALDHELM ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA (2) by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WHITE HEAD by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN LINES ON THE DEATH OF PHILIP MEADOWS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |