Hark! Light now fills the sky!
An angel bathed in light appears.
We fall upon our faces. Fears
that as the heavenly choir nears
we’ll perish where we lie.

Dark? Gloomy? Night is gone!
The angel says we need no dread:
The Christ is born in manger bed.
“Go see the infant…good news spread,”
the angel choir swelled.

Why infant, not a king
to bring fair rule upon the earth?
And why with such a humble birth?
Could not He bask in worlds of worth,
brought on an angel’s wing?

Why? Why not a feed box?
By humble birth He comes, a man,
indentifying with our clan…
(It was the Father’s perfect plan)
low, with sheep and ox.

 Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father…Philippians 2: 5-11

Luke 7: 13-15…And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came up and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, arise.” And the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.

TOUCH THE BIER

How can I touch the bier?
Why must I be defiled
And kiss the face of death?
This thought strikes fear.

Yet, death—no not the end—
But death that’s merely styled
To breathe in every breath—
To selfish spend—

A life that goes nowhere—
But, by the way, misfiled—
Must end in useless death.
How can I spare

A moment—hour—day—
To pull them from the wild,
Disastrous gasp of breath—
The nether way?

To lay aside my dread,
I see him as my child,
And lift him from his death…
And fear has fled.