December 2013/January 2014 - Vol. 71.


The Nativity, Rembrandt, etching 1654
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Born This Eve 
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by Lynne May

He reigns, content,
High King, dressed in rags,
As stars and angels praise,
He draws our gaze,
He hems us in 
By his own peaceful state. 

In manger stall,
Weary, they sigh, finally,
Reclining on gracious hay. 
Dirt, hay,
Smell of animal,
Is nothing now; 
Having Him, they laugh,
They smile, they sing,
Forgetting all else but He. 

This Prince of Peace,
Human, fragile, small,
Contented now, soon shall be
Crowned with thorns, 
Counted least of all,
Happy to suffer, 
Mocked and scorned, 
At peace to die for all. 

Oh, I worship You!
My King and Lord,
Resting on this hay,
Teach me yet
How to bend and bow
Unto your every way. 

For, how often
I bend and bow,
Scrape and scorn,
The path toward holiness,
In doubt and rage,
With weary sighs,
I turn away
From You, True Humility. 

In my doubt,
My fear, and tears,
Let me remember this: 
My King, my Lord,
My Heartís Desire
Found rest on manger hay,
Not in riches, 
In fear, or pride. 

In true simplicity, 
My King, He loved,
Content to live, 
Content to die
And rose again.

O, happy night!
That saw him born,
Our heartsí delight,
True Rest and King,
We love Him so,
We bend, we bow,
Our lives surrendering. 

We surrender full
Unto this, Beauty,
Resting on manger hay, 
See! Content, He is,
And with Him
Content are we 
To bring our lives
To Jesus Christ,
This Holy One,
Born to us this eve. 

Our suffering is nothing; 
Having Him, we laugh,
We smile, we sing,
Forgetting all else but He.

He is Jesus Christ, 
The Promised One, 
Born to us this eve. 
 
 

© 2013 Lynne May

Lynne May is a member of The Work of Christ Community in Lansing, Michigan USA. 
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(c) copyright 2013  The Sword of the Spirit
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email: living.bulwark@yahoo.com
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