The Sacred Child
Two thousand years ago the kings bowed down
And from their packs three costly gifts brought
forth;
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were due the crown
Upon the wobbly head still wet from birth--
Two thousand years ago the shepherds came
And bent their shaggy heads in mumbled prayer
To call upon the power of His name,
A baby helpless in His mother's care--
Two thousand years ago the mother smiled
To know the joy of heaven at her breast,
Her future's hope, her God's own child,
Who mewled at her disturbance of His rest—
Two thousand years
today, lest we forget
That every child is
Christ among us yet.
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