The tears of night have left it wet.
Sing low, the barley and the corn!

The Babe forsakes His mother's knee,
Haste, sweet Mary--
See how He runneth merrily,
One foot upon the path hath He--
Green, green, the barley and the corn!

The mother calls with mother-fear--
Hush, sweet Mary!
Another sound is in His ear,
A sound he cannot choose but hear--
Hush, hush, the barley and the corn!

Far and still far--through years yet dim
List, sweet Mary!
From o'er the waking earth's green rim
Another Springtime calleth Him!
Bend low, the barley and the corn!

Call low, call high, and call again,
Ah, poor Mary!
Know, by thy heart's prophetic pain,
That one day thou shalt call in vain--
Moan, moan, the barley and the corn!

O mother! make thine arms a shield,
Sing, sweet Mary!
While love still holds what love must yield