The Innocents
Peacefully sleeping, without a sound,
Wrapped in blankets all around,
Lies my daughter, sweet and mild;
A joy. A gift. A precious child.
Tiny fingers. Tiny toes.
Of these things she is composed.
Soft and pudgy in her frame;
Amazed the Savior bore the same.
She lies there safe and undisturbed;
Was it the same for the flesh-made Word?
A tyrant’s price placed on His head;
The King of the Jews Wanted: Dead.
With Him to Egypt His parents fled
Obeying what the angel said.
Old Herod’s sword in fury stirred,
On Bethlehem’s boys his wrath conferred.
Lamentations hardly tame
By mothers whose sons they’d ne’er reclaim;
In Ramah’s streets their grief arose,
No comfort found or calm repose.
Thus it was for the Promised Child,
Who came to save a world defiled.
Sleep on, little girl, in His grace wound,
For He is life and peace unbound.
that was beautiful, Joe!
Tremendous!