Legend of the Stork When Christ was born on Christmas Day The birds and the beasts knelt down to pray. In wonder all, Adoring kneeled-- The ox in his stall, The fox in the field, While badger and bear and each wild thing Flocked round the manger where slept a King Housed in a stable at Bethlehem. And the long-legged stork was there with them, With her feathers white, Her crest held high, And awe in her bright, Compassionate eye. "Alas," mourned she, "how poor His bed Who rules the universe overhead!" "Though cozily curled Sleep all my breed, The Lord of the World Lies hard, indeed." "Unpillowed is He who should wear a crown." Then out of her bossom she plucked the down. The plumes from her brest She tugged and tore That the Child should rest Like a beggar no more But fine on a pallet fit for a prince. And Blest has the stork been, ever since-- For the gift that she gave of her body's wear, Blest on chimneys, blest in the air, And patron of babies everywhere.
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