A poem for the third Sunday in Advent
tell us, bethlehem
how the King will come —
enfleshed in the frame of a
child obscure? what a divine joke
o little one, that such a babe could
makes us pure. and yet here’s Truth
incarnate — rich and strange
near to us, the Shepherd mends and soothes
graciously our hearts to change
King from beyond the dawn of time
inchoate though our understanding be
now we break the bread and drink the wine —
grant that we might once more rest in Thee
