Sitting in Michael's Lap
Upon the hill the humble shepherd lay,
In drowsy watch oe'r slumb'ring flocks below;
The heavens, in reflection, mute did stay;
Unwinking stars looked down on fields of snow.
And presently there came a saintly glow,
From Heaven's height came Angels, bathed in song;
They sang their joy that all that heard should know
That Christ was come, to heal the world of wrong.
Their praise upon His name waxed clear and strong,
And filled the lowly shepherd's heart with fear;
But gentle voice spake unto him ere long:
"Fear not: a tale of joy I bring you here!"
"For born to you this night, so hushed and clear,
In Bethlehem, a Babe of Holy birth,
Whose prayers will rise unto His Father's ear,
Whose blood shall rain redemption on the Earth."
The shepherd quailed, uncertain of his worth
To hear such tidings as the Angels sing;
But straightway did he go, in faith and mirth,
To Bethlehem, to greet the newborn King.
Grant me such faith as did the shepherd bring,
Oh gentle Lamb, to honor Thee, I pray:
For Thou hast robbed the Reaper of his sting;
Thy holy birth hath sanctified this day.
You cannot choose the way of your death, but the path you choose will determine its own end.
[This message has been edited by Skyfyre (edited 12-07-1999).]