  WITH me, laid upon my tongue, As upon Thy Mother’s knee Thou wert laid at Thy Nativity; And she felt Thee lie her wraps among. Tenderest pressure, dint of grace, All she dreamed and loved in God, As a shoot from an old Patriarch’s rod, Laid upon her, felt by her embrace. O my God, to have Thee, feel Thee mine, In Thy helpless Presence! Love, Not to dream of Thee in power above, But receive Thee, Little One divine! As the burthen of a seal May give kingdoms with its touch, Lo, Thy meek preponderance is such, I am straight ennobled as I kneel. Teach me, tiny Godhead, to adore On my flesh Thy tender weight, As Thy Mother, bowing, owned how great Was the Child that unto us she bore. |
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