woven in the womb

swaddling cloths had soothed active limbs to stillness; in
the drowsing darkness there was not a sound from him
but the steady in, out, in, out, of infant breaths.

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for to us

and now stand we all upon the brink of mystery
for to us, the empty-handed, there has been a child born
uncreated, He has entered human history
life eternal, swaddled in the flesh that we have worn

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the light of dawn

the old man’s hunger had left his stomach hollow.
how am i to know this? he had asked the angel.
elizabeth’s womb lies barren; no seed
has ever taken root. and i am no better than a wizened stem.

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o Love ever-burning

Who will lift the shroud of night
heaven’s light fresh to reveal
overcome death’s with’ring blight
deign our wounded hearts to heal?

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vanquished is the lonely night

look, light has broken
on the darkened world
vanished is the lonely night —
eternity dawns

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everything — and us

poor, his bed is not
even his to claim
at least in human reck’ning
could this be the one
ev’ry soul longs for?

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