Sleep, infant, sleep
among the oxen and the sheep
which kneel before your manger.
Welcome to danger.

When you become a man
preach us the Good News while you can
before you bear the scourge and cross,
an everlasting loss

we all bear to the grave
with guilt. It was your doom to save
us sinners, us ungodly men
whose sins slay you again.

You could have claimed your own
Egypt, a Pharaoh’s golden throne.
Instead, child, you are humbly born
as Gabriel blows his horn.

Articles by Timothy Murphy

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