The Gift
I have no gift to herald forth
a new born baby King;
Yet what I have I’m told will cause
the Angel Choirs to sing.
No Gold or Frankinsence or Myrrah
with which to celebrate --
But with the gift I give . . . instead
His death I commemorate.
Though wretched is my offered gift --
unworthy for a King . . .
On bended knee . . . before His cross
a yielded soul I bring.
Christmas
‘Twas the night of Christ’s Birthday
and all through the town,
Not a room could be rented,
no bed could be found.
Finally a stable . . .
was all they could find.
But Mary told Joseph
she really didn’t mind.
The stable was empty
except for the stock:
a cow and a donkey -
and sheep from the flock.
Mary lay down
in the straw as she smiled,
And gave birth to Jesus:
God’s sovereign child.
A swaddling cloth diaper
was all that He had.
He was lain in a manger
by Joseph - His dad,
A star sent from Heaven ,
as bright as the day,
Showed the world outside -
where the Savior lay.
But only poor shepherds
whose eyes looked above
Saw God’s Christmas present:
His gift of pure love.
The world went on sleeping ,
that night of all nights,
When Jesus was born . . .
and the stars shone so bright.
Poems by Ron Baron
Please CLICK on the Poem You Wish to Read
Psalm 301
The Hanging
Three Earth Poems
The Gift and Christmas
God of the Day and Night
The Bum and The Brown Bag
The Navigator & The MountainClimber
Poems of Warning-To Take Heed and Beware
The Heartbreak of Jesus and Whispers
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