Classic Poem

More than royal Guest He lay
Where the gentle kine made way
For the Christ-Child meek as they.

Knelt the Magi round His bed,
Bowed low each proudest head;
Mary Mother pondered.

Gold and frankincense and myrrh
They the wise and great confer;
Jesus mild looks up to her!

What her gift? Than nothing less!
Oh that she might crown and bless
Him whom kings shall King confess!

Pierced as with woes to come
At His feet her soul lies dumb,
Love, of all she hath, the sum!

Blessed among women, thou
Who, exalted most, dost bow
Lowliest among the low!