Whose heads, like wind-worn trees, are bent
Beneath the savage storms of time—
Pray Christ, the Child, to be your guide
Past the dim shoal, where shadows bide.
O saving hands! O Christ, that hears
A mortal mother's lullabies;
That feels our agony and tears,
Whose bosom trembles with our sighs,
Give us pure hearts and undefiled,
Make us like thee, O Christ, the Child!