And am as richly clad;
Though plain my garb, though scant my hoard,
As Mary’s Son and nature’s Lord.
2 The manger was his infant bed,
His home the mountain cave;
He had not where to lay his head—
He borrowed e’en his grave;
Earth yielded him no resting-spot;
Her Maker, but she knew him not.
3 As much the world’s good-will I share,