WHEN God's own child came down to earth, High heaven was very glad; The angels sang for holy mirth; Not God himself was sad! Shall we, when ours goes homeward, fret? Come, Hope, and wait on Sorrow! The little one will not forget; It's only till to-morrow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHILD MARGARET by CARL SANDBURG TO A FRIEND by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS EPIGRAM: 45. ON MY FIRST SON by BEN JONSON THURSDAY IN HOLY WEEK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT UNTIMELY LOVE by MATHILDE BLIND THOMAS A KEMPIS: DE IMITATIONE CHRISTI by RICHARD ROGERS BOWKER THE MILLENNNIUM (APOLOGIES AS USUAL) by BERTON BRALEY |