Now from his cra­dle comes the child,
By the Most High
Trained for his own great min­is­try:
He, far from man, drinks in the wild,
The springs of wis­dom un­de­filed.

Far ’mid the de­sert caves pro­found,
’Mid low-browed rocks,
Where ev­ery noise lorn ec­ho mocks,
The bees that in the rock abound,
And mount­ain streams, the on­ly sound.

With limbs long trained to har­di­hood,
The ca­mel’s hair
Wrapped rude­ly round his bo­dy bare,
There in the wild Christ’s sol­dier stood,
The de­sert spoils his on­ly food.

With strong-bent hope his soul doth burn
From Sa­tan’s thrall
That faith­less na­tion to re­call—
That fa­thers might of child­ren learn,
And child­ren to their fa­thers turn.

And now to God all praise de­clare,
In might ar­rayed,
The Fa­ther who the world hath made,
The Son who doth the world re­pair,
And Spir­it that doth keep it fair.