They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high,
Thou cam'st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.
O Son of man, to right my lot
Nought but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the seas Thy sail!
My fancied ways why shouldst Thou heed?
Thou cam'st down Thine own secret stair;
Cam'st down to answer all my need,
Yes, every bygone prayer!
by George MacDonald
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