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Here is the little door



Herbert Howells - Here is the little door - текст песни (слова)

1. 
 
 
 
Here is the little door,  
lift up the latch, oh lift!  
We need not wander more,  
but enter with our gift; 
Our gift of finest gold.  
Gold that was never bought or sold; 
Myrrh to be strewn about his bed; 
Incense in clouds about His head; 
All for the child that stirs not in His sleep, 
But holy slumber hold with ass and sheep. 
2. 
 
 
 
Bend low about His bed,  
For each He has a gift; 
See how His eyes awake, 
Lift up your hands, O lift! 
For gold, He gives a keen-edged sword. 
(Defend with it thy little Lord!) 
For incense, smoke of battle red, 
Myrrh for the honored happy dead; 
Gifts for His children, terrible and sweet; 
Touched by such tiny hands,  
and Oh such tiny feet.   
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