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Gilbert Keith Chesterton (Гилберт Кит Честертон)


* * *


Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift!
We need not wander more but enter with our gift;
Our gift of finest gold,
Gold that was never bought nor sold;
Myrrh to be strewn about his bed;
Incense in clouds about his head;
All for the Child who stirs not in his sleep.
But holy slumber holds with ass and sheep.

Bend low about his bed, for each he has a gift;
See how his eyes awake, lift up your hands, O lift!
For gold, he gives a keen-edged sword
(Defend with it Thy little Lord!),
For incense, smoke of battle red.
Myrrh for the honoured happy dead;
Gifts for his children terrible and sweet,
Touched by such tiny hands and
Oh such tiny feet. 



Gilbert Keith Chesterton's other poems:
  1. Tribute to Gladstone
  2. The Great Minimum
  3. For a War Memorial
  4. To Captain Fryatt
  5. On the Disastrous Spread of Aestheticism in all Classes


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