Advent

Be thou the field, O heart,Whereon His star hath shone,While they of humble partTended their flocks alone.

And thou the manger poor,O mind, in waiting be!And thou, O soul, the open door,Lest He shall come to thee.

O heart and soul and mind,Thy little all unfold,That even in thee He findSome mite of myrrh and gold.