There in the narrow manger, cold and bleak
My Lord, Thou art;
And there within those hands, so soft and weak,
I lay my heart.
Beneath those tiny feet I bow my head,
O blessèd Child.
And kiss the straw that forms Thy chilly bed
In winter wild.
Show me thy wondrous Babe, O mother-maid,
Foretold of yore;
The treasure on thy virgin bosom laid
Let me adore.
That small hand place upon my prostrate brow,
O mother dear;
For crouching in His infant presence
I quake with fear.
A sinner kneeling at an infant’s cot,
I call on Thee;
A sinner at the cross, forget me not,
But plead for me.
And thus in faith assured I leave my heart,
Blest Child, with Thee;
A worthless gift with which Thou wilt not part