“I am afraid I shall make a fool of myself,” she said.
“We should all be willing to run that risk for the sake of others,” I answered.
“I will try then, sir.”
So she sang, and her clear voice soon silenced the speech all round.
“Babe Jesus lay on Mary’s lap;
The sun shone in His hair:
And so it was she saw, mayhap,
The crown already there.
“For she sang: ‘Sleep on, my little King!
Bad Herod dares not come;
Before Thee, sleeping, holy thing,
Wild winds would soon be dumb.
“‘I kiss Thy hands, I kiss Thy feet,
My King, so long desired;
Thy hands shall never be soil’d, my sweet,
Thy feet shall never be tired.
“‘For Thou art the King of men, my son;
Thy crown I see it plain;
And men shall worship Thee, every one,
And cry, Glory! Amen.”
“Babe Jesus open’d His eyes so wide!
At Mary look’d her Lord.
And Mary stinted her song and sigh’d.
Babe Jesus said never a word.”
When Jane had done singing, I asked her where she had learned the carol; and she answered,—
“My mistress gave it me. There was a picture to it of the Baby on his mother’s knee.”
“I never saw it,” I said. “Where did you get the tune?”
“I thought it would go with a tune I knew; and I tried it, and it did. But I was not fit to sing to you, sir.”
“You must have quite a gift of song, Jane!” I said.