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
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