When last there was no Christmas Day,
no gifts, no carols, no strings of light,
just life and death and love and hate
a child was born to rough and rude,
to blood and sweat and oh! some joy,
and then to tears and splintered wood
was born to Mary, to Joseph and us – a little child,
all wrapped and wracked in life and death,
in love and hate, our age-long gloom
yet dawned the day – his day, the first – for us the light
through rough and rude, through tears and wood –
this gift on earth, when heaven woke to carol hope!
No comments:
Post a Comment