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Long ago, long ago, When times were stranger, Once a Lady and her Son Resyed in a manger, In a manger on the straw. The night was shrew, the wind was raw, And the dull fire, untended, kept No comfort where the Infant slept. Then she, too spent to mend the spark, Spoke to the beast-enfolding dark. "Oxen, lest He should come to harm, Rise up and blow these embers warm With your great breath, for mercy's sake." But the rapt oxen did not wake. "Ass, will you breathe upon the flame?" But the ass dozed nor heard his name, While heavy the cart horse dreamed beside His feeding box that Christmastide. Then suddenly the midnight stirred. In from the winter at her word There lew a brown, south-seeking bird. Bravest of small created things, He made a bellows of his wings. He puffed his feathers to a fan, Singing, until the ash began To kindle, to glow, to burn its best. The flame leaped out. It seared his breast, But still the robin, loud with praise, Beat his quick wings before the blaze So all the stable was bequiled To warmth. And softly slept the Child. "Dear robin," then the Lady said, "Wear from now on the breast of red. Where the fire was, let fire remain, A blessed and perpetual stain Burnt on your heart that all may see The signature of Charity." Long ago, long ago When times were stranger Once a robin served the Lord Who rested in a manger.
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