" MY little son, my little son, "
Thus Mary spake to him,
What time he played with childish toys
Within the chamber dim.

" The day is done, my little son,
Night draweth near, " she said;
" Come to thy mother, little one,
And rest thy weary head. "

The young child came with willing feet,
And looked into her face;
Then nestled in her tender arms,
Held in a close embrace.

Lightly his fingers touched her brow;
Sighed he: " Why art thou sad?
There is no laughter in thine eyes;
O mother dear, be glad! "

Then playfully and tenderly
She clasped him to her breast;
" Nay! but I smile, I laugh, " she said.
" Now close thine eyes and rest. "

But round the dim and shadowy room
The wide eyes wandered far.
" What is this story that they tell
Of shepherds and a star —

" That led three wise men from the East
Across the desert wold,
Bearing unto a new-born child
Rich gifts and shining gold?

" O mother dear, O mother dear,
Tell me the baby's name,
And why the angels sang of him,
And why the wise men came! "

Ah, then did Mary's heart beat fast;
Her lips crushed back a moan;
" Ask me not this, my little son,
Till thou art older grown.

" What thou knowest not, in God's own time
He will make known to thee;
Sleep now, dear heart, and take thy rest
Ere yet the dark hours be. "

But still the tireless lips went on:
" I dreamed a dream last night —
A wondrous dream of one who came
Clad in a robe of light.

" He led me to a carven chest,
He turned a golden key;
But even as he raised the lid
A cloud encompassed me,

" And from the air, like music rare,
A voice fell low and deep;
" The hour hath not yet come," it said,
" Let the child longer sleep." "

The mother pondered silently,
Her only answer this:
To fold the drooping eyelids down
And seal them with a kiss.