The Gold Og God
Poem By Robert Kirkland Kernighan
The royal hill was calm and still
And the silent angels slept,
Till all alone to the golden throne
A wee, wee baby crept.
Ah ! its little feet were pink and sweet,
Its steps were all unsteady ;
Yet its little voice made heaven rejoice :
' Lo ! the golden wheat is ready !'
' The wheat is ready,' rang around
The steps of the golden throne ;
The angels all their scythes unbound
In a world that was all their own ;
And the beautiful baby crept along
With lips like a golden pod ;
The harvest was brief, yet it slept on a sheaf-
On the glorious gifts of God.
Look for a dollar and find it, please,
Down in the dusty street ;
Then look in the billowed and splendid seas
Where the sweet wind wipes the wheat.
There 's where the angels have come to-night :
There 's where the baby sings ;
And all 's afire with a spark of light
From a big Archangel's wings.
So the story is told by a baby wee
With a mouth like a golden pod
A sheaf is a splendid angel's knee
It sleeps in the lap of God.
East and west, and north and south,
Angel ! whither away ?
Will the beautiful autumn fill the mouth
Of the winter's hungered day ?
Yes, out of the field the promise wings
That the wee, wee babe is right :
The yellow harvest sobs and sings
As the white days take their flight.
So the baby lives without mishap,
And its lips like a ripened pod,
Are pursed in the rich and the yellow lap
Of the golden gift of God.