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Out of deep heaven
The son is given
To humankind so heavy-laden:
In humble shelter winter-cold
Mid beasts in stall and sheep in fold
Born to a maid, a tender maiden,
At his behest
Our helpless guest
Just as the Prophets have foretold.

Look where he lies!
The mother’s eyes
Smile on her infant son so stabled.
Smoking aloft, the torch-brands red,
Shadowing cross-beams overhead,
Burn in the byre where he is cradled -
Phoenix afresh,
The Word made Flesh,
Filling the skies with joy and dread!

Silent above,
In fear, in love,
Angels to glittering stations rally,
Powerless to intervene and guard
Their three-fold king, earth’s tiny ward,
But set a light above the valley
Softly to shine,
A silver sign
For men who ride to meet their Lord.

Breaks in this hour
That ancient power!
Hell’s shadowy minions reel unseated,
And for an instant see their woe,
That towering love that shakes them so,
The fiery Trinity – completed!
But in the hay
At break of day
Nothing of this the Son may know.

© Colin Bailey, December 2008