Friday, 25 December 2015


Ecce Verbum is now exactly a year old, and this is the ninetieth post - although most are not currently available to read.  After a long holiday from writing, I have decided to have a go at poetry.  Happy Christmas.

Read Luke 2: 1-14.

Our sheep remained in darkness when we heard
The Angels herald God's Incarnate Word.
His mighty army did not quell the night,
For Glory is not quite the same as light.

By Glory did we see those pastures dim,
And glimpse the primal garden made by Him
Whose footsteps grace no more this vale of tears,
Since Adam heard them once, and stopped his ears.

Exuberant His being, like a boy
At play among his creatures, with such joy
For forming beauty, tending it to thrive!
His Glory was mankind fully alive.

We saw somehow the width and depth and height
Of Love, and it was Love that gave us fright;
All Adam's sons, with no pure love to give,
How could we see the face of God and live?

The Angel wondered why we were afraid,
Since he remained as pure as he was made,
But we shrank back and hid our souls, aware
That Glory is too much for us to bear.

God, in His mercy, saw this at the Fall,
And veiled His awful Glory with the wall
Of Eden, kindly exile now our fate,
While, for salvation, generations wait.

The Angels rose, and with the veil replaced,
We left our baffled sheep and sought, with haste,
A tiny babe, and found to our delight
That Glory is not quite the same as might.

The ancient wall no longer keeps at bay
Unfathomable love we can't repay.
In spite of our unworthiness and fear,
The Son of God is infinitely near.

Our Father, on His gentle throne above,
Knew how to win our feeble hearts to love.
How can our spirits falter, though defiled,
When Glory comes among us as a child?

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