they all were looking for a king

they all were looking for a king
to slay their foes and lift them high;
thou cam’st a little baby thing
that made a woman cry.

o son of man, to right my lot
naught but thy presence can avail;
yet on the road thy wheels are not,
nor on the sea thy sail.

my fancied ways why should’st thou heed?
thou com’st down thine own secret stair;
com’st down to answer all my need,
yes, every bygone prayer.