Classic Poem

As one who reaches after toil and fight
A happy place, exalted peers among,
And yet remembers, not without delight,
The small beginnings whence his greatness sprung—
The breast on which he wept, to which he clung—
The spot where earth first opened on his sight—
The garden walk where first his play-shouts rung—
The spate hard by that tumbled down the height—
So Mary, Mother, on the sapphire throne,
Where thou art seated with thy Royal Child,
Thou treasurest in thy memory every stone
And rafter of that inn and manger wild,
Where David's Son became thy very own,
And on thy smile Incarnate-Godhead smiled.