A Ballad Of The Wise Men Poem by Margaret Widdemer

The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem
And the Wise Men gave Him gold,
And Mary-Mother she hearkened them
As they prayed in the cattle-fold:
'Smile then, smile, little Prince of Earth,
Smile in Thy holy sleep,
Now Thou art come, for want and dearth
There shall be plenty and light and mirth
Through lands where the poor folk weep.'
But Mary-Mother was still and pale
And she raised her golden-ringed head,
'Then why have I heard the children wail
All night long on the far-blown gale
While my own Child slept?' she said.
(But far overhead the angels sang:
'There shall be joy!' the clear notes rang!)
The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem
And the censers burned for him
That the Wise Men swung on its silver stem
And prayed while the smoke rose dim:
'Sleep, then sleep, little Son of God,
Sleep while the whole world prays;
All the world shall fear Thy nod,
Following close Thy staff and rod,
Praising this day of days.'
But Mary-Mother turned whispering
There by the manger-bed
'Then why do I hear the mocking ring
Of voices crying and questioning
Through the scented smoke?' she said.
(But high overhead the angels sang–
'There shall be faith!' the pure notes rang.)
The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem
And the Wise Men gave Him myrrh,
And Mary-Mother she hearkened them
As they prayed by the heart of her:
'Sleep, then sleep, little Prince of Peace,
Sleep, take Thy holy rest,
Now Thou art come all wars shall cease,
Thou who hast brought all strife release
Even from east to west!'
But Mary-Mother she veiled her head
As if her great joys were lost,
And 'Here is only a manger-bed,
Then why do I hear clashed swords?' she said.
'And why do I see the tide of red
Over the whole world tossed?'
(But still overhead the angels sang:
'There shall be peace!' the sure notes rang!)