Here I hold you, hardly my own,
given in trust and given on loan;
half aware of what is to be:
God on a quest, your mother the key.
Loved by me although, in effect,
you’re the one I tried to reject:
not my burden or my desire;
not my consent, not mine to enquire.
Strangely, slowly, heaven’s intent
heals the hurt in all I resent,
binding me to her I once left;
neither of you will now be bereft.
Should an angel visit again,
let him call me ‘blest among men.’
Once disheartened, now overawed,
here, in my hands I cradle my Lord.
Lulla, lulla, lullaby.
When you wake, I’ll answer your cry;
while she sleeps I’ll listen and pray,
honouring God who called me to stay.