Love and the Child

I present this with due respect to Francis Thompson:

'Why do you so bustle,
And in my womb do quake?
Forsooth, you do but chafe me,
This choice is mine to make:
You will be loved if so I choose,
When it liketh me!'

So I heard a mother,
Confusèd, confronted,
Rebellious against love's arms,
Make her peevish cry.

To the tender God I turn:--
'Thy blessing now I see:
Whoe'er receives a child in love,
Receives the Son of Thee.'

Thompson's original poem reads thus:

'Why do you so clasp me,
And draw me to your knee?
Forsooth, you do but chafe me,
I pray you let me be:
I will be loved but now and then
When it liketh me!'

So I heard a young child,
A thwart child, a young child
Rebellious against love's arms,
Make its peevish cry.

To the the tender God I turn:--
'Pardon, Love most High!
For I think those arms were even Thine,
And that child even I.'