Draped under a purple burlap sky,
We wait, We fast;
We Pray, pregnant with Hope,
Anticipating a longed for Salvation,
For the word made flesh;
And, now, we behold His tiny form,
Bundled incarnate purity,
Swaddled pink humanity;
And his cry rings out
Echoing prophetic the voices of Eternity
And the weight of glory,
Falling on an audience of sheep and goats;
Joy to the World!
The Heavenlies welcome on earth
Whom they bowed to,
Whom they knew as King;
Magnificence unknown to human eye,
Left behind
For the chisel and plane,
For the olive wood,
For the ox and trough,
For smelly, moist, rotting hay.
Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!
Debts erased by his inch long fingers
And a life forfeit;
Again I say, Rejoice, Oh world!
With solemn hearts lifted
In awe of a babe.
copyright Micah McDonald 2010
