Classic Poem

It was the little scullion maid
Whose willing hands served them,
Who served the noble guests and fine
With store of meat and poured out wine
In the inn at Bethlehem.

The night was full of stinging rain,
The mad wind drove in hate;
It was the little scullion maid
Who leaned into the dark and said,
" One crieth at the gate! "

" Behold, there are two travelers
And wearied they and sore! "
Then quoth the landlord at his wine,
" Itrow they are no guests of mine —
My inn will hold no more.

" Now for a king small room might be,
But none for such as they.
Let them begone, or, for a jest,
Bid them among my kine to rest
Until the break of day. "

It was the little scullion maid
Who slipped into the night
To bring the stabled travelers
The bread and bedding that were hers,
And oil for them to light.

It was the little scullion maid
Who braved the wind and sleet;
As through the darksome night she crept,
Sudden a great star flamed and leapt
And led her puzzled feet.

It was the little scullion maid
That at the stable door
Heard with a sudden awe beguiled,
The sharp cry of a little child
Where ne'er was child before.

And it was Joseph took her gifts
With thankful words and meet,
And low the little scullion maid
Hath knelt at Mary's side and laid
Soft linen at her feet.

And it was Jesus of Nazareth,
The new-born child spake He —
" My Mother, by thy throne in Heaven
Shall stand those saints whose joy is given
To minister to thee.

" Ursula — Agnes — Magdalen —
Whose names are loved of men,
But ever at thy own right hand
Behold, this little maid shall stand
Thy chosen handmaiden. "

It was the little scullion maid
Whose willing hands served them,
Who served the noble guests and fine
With store of meat and poured out wine
In the inn at Bethlehem.