Incense Burning

This baby born in Bethlehem to intervene in history, two thousand years His diadem still glitters gold with mystery. Birthed in a stable to a maid - this baby born in Bethlehem - bound in swaddling, not bright brocade, of Jesse's root, eternal stem. Scorned by her doubting countrymen, how did she walk those eighty miles; this baby born in Bethlehem to mother hardly more than child. Bent low before His manger, stark, what love gift can I offer Him, the incense of a burning heart: this baby born in Bethlehem! Copyright, November 28, 2017 Faye Lanham Gibson