O Little One Who Art So Great

O lit­tle One who art so great

Today there would be weep­ing skies;

For ho­ly Heav’n fore­sees the hate

Against Thee that on earth will rise;

Were not the ho­ly Heav­en sure

That love will work of hate the cure.

A heart the glad­dest and the best

Thou hast

Thy Fa­ther’s babe and ours;

Smile

lit­tle One

in hap­py rest

There wait Thee dark tu­mul­tu­ous hours;

I see them

O

I see them near

And al­most wish Thou wert not here.

I know Thee

Je­sus

who Thou art;

But what have we to do with Thee

That Thou shouldst choose the bit­ter­est part

And sink Thy­self in mi­se­ry?

Sorrows Thy love will steep Thee in

But sor­rows love for Thee will win.

Rest

Nurs­ling

in Thine in­no­cence;

King Her­od’s dag­ger can­not slay;

To dark­er death Thou go­est hence

Toiling along a nar­row way

Which ev­er leads from bad to worse

All thor­ny with an an­cient curse.

A curse! O mo­ther

dost thou hear

What must be­fall thy lit­tle son?

Smile

Ba­by

at Thy mo­ther’s tear

The bless­ing by the curse is won;

Purer than snow will be our gains

By hor­ror of His crim­son stains.