My FIRST poem written in 1999.<\/p>\n
Twas the very first Christmas, in Bethlem, Judea
\nThe scene of Christ’s coming, God’s wondrous idea.
\nThe people were coming, the inns quickly filled.
\nThey’d come to be taxed, as Caeser had willed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Joseph and Mary, she great with child, were there.
\nThey searched for a room, but could find one nowhere.
\nOne kind innkeeper, offering all he was able,
\nallowed them to sleep, on the hay in his stable.
\nToward midnight a new baby’s cry could be heard.
\nA lowly manger a crib, for Jesus, God’s Word.
\nAway on a hillside, none would have guessed.
\nIn a world torn by sin, The Word was made flesh.<\/p>\n
The shepherds watching o’er their flocks in the night,
\nWere first to hear news of this wonderful light.
\nFor, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
\nbut Angels, proclaiming Divinity near.
\n“Glory to God in the highest” was their song.
\nThe Christ had come for sin and wrong.
\nThus, like great eagles, they sang as they flew,
\nOf Jesus, a baby, yet Savior, too-
\n“He’s Savior, counselor,
\nPrince and King!
\nMighty God, Emmanuel!
\nThe Christ,
\nHe’s Lord of all!”
\nAt the top of their voices,
\nSinging praise to the Lord,
\n“Now Praise Him! Praise Him!
\nPraise Him all!”<\/p>\n
Three Magi from the East had traveled afar,
\nTo worship a King, they’d been led by a star.
\nFrankincense, myrrh and gold, so finely wrought,
\nUnto Lord Jesus were worshipfully brought.<\/p>\n
Christ was worshiped by these and other men.
\nHis life was perfect, lived without sin.
\nHis death, violent and painful, his enemies had composed.
\n“This is the end,” Jesus friends had supposed.
\nThree days later, in the very early morn,
\nThe stone rolled away, his death clothes, torn.
\nJust as at his birth, announced by Angels so fair,
\nJesus mother and Mary were told “Look, he’s not there!
\nRejoice, for He’s alive! Please, Despair not!
\nYour debt’s been paid, your salvation’s bought.”
\nHe was to return to Heaven, he’d left it for me.
\nThe next time we’d see him, would be in His Glory.<\/p>\n
As he rose to the sky, surrounded by angels, so bright,
\nHe was heard to exclaim, ere he rose out of sight,<\/p>\n
Happy Christmas to all and to all eternal life!!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My FIRST poem written in 1999. Twas the very first Christmas, in Bethlem, Judea The scene of Christ’s coming, God’s wondrous idea. The people were coming, the inns quickly filled. They’d come to be taxed, as Caeser had willed.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[30],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-111","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p3Mji6-1N","jetpack_likes_enabled":false,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=111"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":114,"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111\/revisions\/114"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=111"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=111"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/musings.butchevans.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=111"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}