The First Christmas by Jack Zavada
It would have gone unnoticed
in that sleepy little town;
a couple in a stable,
cows and donkeys all around.
A single candle flickered.
In the orange glow of its flame,
an anguished cry, a soothing touch.
Things would never be the same.
They shook their heads in wonder,
for they could not understand,
the puzzling dreams and omens,
and the Spirit’s stern command.
So they rested there exhausted,
husband, wife and newborn son.
History’s greatest mystery
had only just begun.
And on a hillside outside town,
rough men sat by a fire,
startled from their gossip
by a great angelic choir.
They dropped their staffs,
they gaped in awe.
What was this wondrous thing?
That angels would proclaim to them
heaven’s newborn king.
They journeyed into Bethlehem.
The Spirit led them down.
He told them where to find him
in the sleepy little town.
They saw a tiny baby
wiggling gently on the hay.
They fell upon their faces;
there was nothing they could say.
Tears trickled down their wind burned cheeks,
their doubts had finally passed.
The proof lay in a manger:
Messiah, come at last!