The smell of hay,
a baby's breath on mother's cheek.
She wraps her child in swaddling clothes,
for strangers come to meet Him,
She smiles . . .
And gazing into Creator's eyes,
she cares for Him and gives a sigh.
Her task so great.
What did the angel say?
"He shall be called the Son of the most High,
the Holy one of God."
What can she do but love Him.
She serves Him with her mother's milk,
He sighs . . .
What wonder! This Creator's child . . .
So small, and yet so high!
And angels come and gather round,
To look on Him who wore a crown,
Oh, Christmas Morn has come at last!
The tiny child in mother's grasp,
The mystery of the ages has begun!
For God reached down to touch the ground,
and wrapped Himself in a baby's gown . . .
And a Savior's love makes baby sounds.
A star shows the way to wise men,
He's found, He's found!
The child lays still as all do kneel
around His manger throne.
He lives, He lives!
Messiah's come to save His people,
to make them all His own.
Mother and father marvel thus
on Creator's scene made just for us,
Author, William C. Smith
used by permission