On quiet Nazareth's sacred sod,
Where the Child Saviour's footsteps trod.

Awe-struck we picture to ourselves
That brow serene and fair,
That gentle face, the long rich curls
Of wavy golden hair,
And those deep wondrous, star-like eyes,
Holy and calm as midnight skies.

We see Him in the work-shop shed
With Joseph, wise and good,
Obedient to His guardian's word,
Docile and meek of mood;
The Mighty Lord of Heaven and Earth
Toiling like one of lowly birth.

Or else, with His young Mother fair--
That sinless, spotless one,
Who watched with fond and reverent care,
Her high and glorious Son,
Knowing a matron's joy and pride,
And yet a Virgin pure beside.

All marvelled at the strange, shy grace
Of Mary's gentle Son;
Young mothers envied her the Boy
Who love from all hearts won;
And, gazing on that face so mild,
Prayed low to Heaven for such a child.