He
reigns, content,
High
King, dressed in rags,
As
stars and angels praise,
He
draws our gaze,
He
hems us in
By
his own peaceful state.
In
manger stall,
Weary,
they sigh, finally,
Reclining
on gracious hay.
Dirt,
hay,
Smell
of animal,
Is
nothing now;
Having
Him, they laugh,
They
smile, they sing,
Forgetting
all else but
He.
This
Prince of Peace,
Human,
fragile, small,
Contented
now, soon shall
be
Crowned
with thorns,
Counted
least of all,
Happy
to suffer,
Mocked
and scorned,
At
peace to die for all.
Oh,
I worship You!
My
King and Lord,
Resting
on this hay,
Teach
me yet
How
to bend and bow
Unto
your every way.
For,
how often
I
bend and bow,
Scrape
and scorn,
The
path toward holiness,
In
doubt and rage,
With
weary sighs,
I
turn away
From
You, True Humility.
In
my doubt,
My
fear, and tears,
Let
me remember this:
My
King, my Lord,
My
Heart’s Desire
Found
rest on manger hay,
Not
in riches,
In
fear, or pride.
In
true simplicity,
My
King, He loved,
Content
to live,
Content
to die
And
rose again.
O,
happy night!
That
saw him born,
Our
hearts’ delight,
True
Rest and King,
We
love Him so,
We
bend, we bow,
Our
lives surrendering.
We
surrender full
Unto
this, Beauty,
Resting
on manger hay,
See!
Content, He is,
And
with Him
Content
are we
To
bring our lives
To
Jesus Christ,
This
Holy One,
Born
to us this eve.
Our
suffering is nothing;
Having
Him, we laugh,
We
smile, we sing,
Forgetting
all else but
He.
He
is Jesus Christ,
The
Promised One,
Born
to us this eve.
©
2013 Lynne May
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