Christmas is a time of tears,
A joyful melancholy,
A dazzling of midnight dawn
A glint of darkest glory.
The ribbons are of crimson hue,
And tinsel, silver-strung
Wrapped round the stumbling Christ,
With poinsettias in His path
Each Station, bleeding beauty,
Drives stakes through time and space,
Dripping gore and spittle,
Kissed by Winter’s star
And here, we stand, the faithful
With the Lady of the Night
Who birth’s the blazing Son,
And finds her heart consumed.
The world is but a hazel nut,
Held in the hand divine,
Yet beasts will warm eternity
Fresh-swaddled in the straw.
Wooden frames will cradle Him;
Mother’s arms will comfort Him,
Now, and then —
Oh, oh, must we think of then?
It is too much, too much!
Lady, Lady, marvel deep
On what has come through thee!
Lady, Lady, we will weep
For what will pierce through thee!
But we cannot turn back…
The seed is in the ground now,
To perish and be raised
And as your soul is stricken,
The wound will glow with grace.
It will pour down upon us,
This second birthing blood,
For hearts entwined must suffer,
Even unto Death.
Now, look upon the Shepherds
Who kneel beside the Kings,
While Angels sing of this full trough
And that empty tomb.