Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining,Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall:
Angels adore him in slumber reclining,
Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all.
Odours of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest or gold from the mine?
Vainly with gifts would his favour secure;
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration,
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Words by Bishop R Heber, 1783-1826