And straightway looking on the dear King’s face,
Remembered naught but joy that face to see!
Long time ago, when He was twelve years old,
The Holy Child climbed fair Judea’s hills,
And his young mother in her heart did hold
Strange words concerning him, whose mystery fills
Her soul with wonder.—On their homeward way,
The reverent pilgrims haste; and sorrowing
She seeks her Son, and lo, in calm delay,
He lingered in the temple of the King!