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He held her close as she winced with pain and squeezed her hand with every strain.

I'm sure he wept a father's tear as the glorious birth grew ever near.

He wiped the drops from off her face, brought straw to soften the birthing place.

And when the infant came at length, he stayed right there to lend her strength.

He welcomed those who traveled far to see the babe beneath the star.

From lowly shepherds to mighty kings all knew they'd witnessed sacred things.

He stood aside, no want for fame, with callused hands and sturdy frame.

SHEPHERD

By Sally Meyer (c) 1997 all rights reserved


While shepherds careful vigil kept o'er lambs in fields of green.

The sky took on a brilliant glow and lit the grassy scene.

In dread they looked upon the star that rose anew that night.

Then angels came to calm their fears and tell of the heavenly light.

In word and song they shared the news of the babe who was their king.

They sang of peace and love and joy, and the good will he would bring.

The keepers of the flocks arose and followed the heavenly beam,

But not to gleaming palace walls as it would surely seem.

It led them to an earthen stall where cattle and goats were kept.

And in the manger soft and warm, the little Jesus slept.

Tears filled up their tired eyes and ran down wind burned cheeks.

They had found the promised one, for whom the world still seeks.

Though they were watchers of the flocks, tenders of lamb and ewe,

He was the keeper of God's flock, HE was the shepherd true.


ROOM IN THE INN

By Sally Meyer (c) 1997 all rights reserved

How much different would things have been,

If maybe there had been room at the inn?


No hay, no manger, no beasts, no stall.

Rather, plenty of beds and blankets for all.


Not a proprietor in his right mind

Would allow all those shepherds, the filthiest kind,


To enter the doors of his establishment,

Not even the ones, who by angels were sent!


And the star overhead, no matter the beam,

Through walls made of mud, would not have been seen.


No bleating of lamb, no cooing of bird.

Would songs of the angels have even been heard?


Maybe the kings would have been turned away.

Foreigners weren't welcome in that place or that day.

Don't blame the innkeepers doing their jobs.

How could they know it was the Son of God?


Like the rest of his life, it was part of the plan.

A humble birth, a humble man.


Yes, it happened as it should have been,

No place to stay. No room in the inn.

Those Hands

by Sally Meyer ?2000

2000 years have come and gone since that silent and holy night.

The eve of the birth of our Savior, a day that would bring new light.

There sat Mary in the quiet stable, caressing her newborn babe.

Hardly more than a child, herself, giving birth in a cold, dark cave.

Gently unwrapping the little boy, unwinding swaddling bands.

His tiny fingers encircled her own as she stroked his little hands.

She must have asked herself and smiled, "What will these hands do someday?"

"Will they farm the earth or build a house? Will they work with chisel or clay?"