THE wolf of want is howling
At doors no angel keeps.
Young Mary smiled on her Holy Child,
But many a mother weeps.
The Kings of the East brought treasures
Uncounted and unpriced.
Who bears a gift to arms that lift
A little famished Christ?
The Least Of These
Katharine Lee Bates
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Poem topics: angel, child, mother, young, holy, gift, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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