When near to her at Bethlehem
I knelt at Christmastide,
"There is no pillow for thy Son,
No pillow, Lady, for thy Son,"
I said to her, and sighed.
But when I softly turned away
Ant tiptoed from His bed,
The Lady Mary smiled at me,
The Lady Mary smiled to see
(I'd tucked it in so carefully)
My heart beneath His head.
Edith Hume
Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press,
1944.