This poem was inspired by a quiet day focusing on the Advent season. |
It’s cold and it’s quiet On this midwinter night On a hill side near Beth’lem Beneath the star light. Behind the stone walls I hear shuffling of sheep As I pull my cloak tight And try hard to sleep. I’m the only one left Putting wood on the fire; Don’t hold with that talk Of a heavenly choir. “Bah, humbug” I said Of the sound so serene, “It’s no angel choir, It’s naught but a dream.” “It’s nonsense, this talk Of a babe down below, Of a king in a stable ‘Midst thick winter snow.” “There’s work to do here, There’s a flock here to guard.” But they laughed and ran down To that rude stable yard I sigh and I think, “If there was a king, How would I go When I’ve nothing to bring?” “I’m only a shepherd Dirty and poor, What king would allow me A foot through the door?” “And how can a baby Asleep in a byre Be the prophesied one, The anointed Messiah?” “It doesn’t make sense; It’s a mystery to me, How a baby can save Can set people free.” I stare at the light In the valley below. I need to discover; I’m hungry to know If it’s true what they say; If this baby will save The rich and the poor From the bonds of the grave. So I rise and I hurry Through new-falling snow Down to that stable That welcoming glow. My hands are quite empty, My heart it does sing With joy at the prospect Of meeting my king. |