The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
His hair was like a star.
O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.

The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown.
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

O weary, weary were the world,
But here the world is aright.