That First Christmas, Oh sacred Day When The Baby Jesus in manger lay- The Holy Child in his swaddling clothes Sleeps gently as the wonder grows. The Virgin Mary smoothes the bed Where rests the sacred Infant’s head; And as She folds Him to Her breast Did a heavenly brightness on Him rest? Did She forget anguish, travail and pain When The Prince of Life in her arms was lain? Did She do as other Mothers would? Was she thrilled with the glory of Motherhood? Was He a God or a Baby then Before He became a servant of men? Methinks I hear Her answer me From out of the mists of Eternity:
“He was My Baby for so short a time –
My dear little Babe with a soul divine –
My soul vibrates with praise and joy,
For the Savior of the World
Was My Baby Boy!”
“O sacred glorious mother Love
Is a gift to mortals from God above.
The Lord loves His children, every one,
BUT MY BABE IS HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON!”
Thus Mary seemed to answer me
From out of the mists of eternity –
So that Little Babe born in Bethlehem
Was God’s Christmas gift
To the children of men.
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