A Child is Born

And the rafters of toil are still gilded
With the dawn of the stars of the heart,
And the wise men draw near in the twilight,
Who are weary of learning their art,
And the face of the tyrant is darkened,
His Spirit is torn,
For a new king is enthroned; yea the sternest
A child is born.

And the mother still joys for the whispered
First stir of unspeakable things,
Still feels that high moment unfurling
Red glory of Gabriel's wings.
Still the babe of an hour is a master
Whom angels adorn
Emmanuel, prophet, anointed,
A child is born.

G. K. Chesterton

Comments

[John]

Does he (Chesterton) look like a man who would know how to relate with feeling-sensitivity to a REAL living-breathing-feeling, baby/infant/toddler/child?