The gift most gracious and most great,
It would not be such gifts as these
That I should pray for on my knees.
No, I should ask a greater grace—
A little, quiet, firelit place,
Warm-curtained, violet-sweet, where she
Should hold my baby on her knee.
There she should sit and softly sing
The songs my heart hears echoing;
And I, made pure by joy, should come