Were willing feet. The donkey following
His lead avoided every stone: He bore
The unborn King.
Mary, who saw their feet were tiring, knew
She must reach Bethlehem to bear her Son.
She smiled at Joseph, knowing he too dreamed
Of the Little One.
The Babe's first cry dispelled his weariness
When resting in a stable sweet with hay.
He thought of the waiting cradle as he knelt
Where the Infant lay.
Oh, his were patient feet, not hesitant:
When an angel bade, they crossed the desert sand
Fleeing to Egypt. Wearied, Joseph touched
A little hand.
And was renewed--Time passed. Returning home,
The Little One would often coax to walk
Beside him; leave small footprints by his own.
The Wee Lad's talk
Awoke his father-love: What joy to work
Together in his shop ... until He grew!
All wisely would he guide those little feet,
For he knew ... He knew!
