The weary road stretched on beneath their feet,
From day to dusty day along the haggard way,
Their goal a tiny village where their folk must meet
By edict to be counted, then to pay.
But joy would come, a Baby in the hay –
Declared by heav’nly hosts and portents mighty, strong;
A cloud of darkness lifted on a glorious day,
A holy birth proclaimed by angel song.
Like them with guarded step we walk along
From day to hopeful day on life’s uncertain course,
With confidence that in His love we still belong
As holy Promise strips away remorse.
For Christ was born to banish darkest night
And end each journey with His blessed Light.
Copyright © 2017 David B. Hawthorne