“L’Oiseau De Dieu”[3]

(A Legend of Normandy)

When sweet Babe Jesus sleeping lay And shivered with the cold; The wee brown wren took thought to Him, Her down she plucked and brought to Him, Enwrapped Him, fold on fold.

When sweet Babe Jesus craved a robe, A-couching in the hay, Her own warm plumes she laid on Him, A feathered garb she made on Him, That blessed Christmas Day.

Babe Jesus lacked a coverlet; The rude wind stole within; The wren brought leaves and spread on Him, Russet and gold she shed on Him, And lapped Him softly in.

Dear bird of brown, thou tender heart, Thou gav’st the Babe thine all! To praise thee is most meet to us, Thy pitying deeds are sweet to us, God’s blessing on thee fall!