Gilbert Keith G. K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,
His hair was like a light.
(Oh weary, weary was the world,
But here is all alright.)
Ah, dearest Jesus, Holy Child,
Make thee bed, soft, undefiled
Within my heart, that it may be
A quiet chamber, kept for Thee.
My heart for very joy does leap
My lips no more can silence keep,
I must sing with joyful tongue
That sweetest ancient cradle song.