by Sandra A. Popp
Heaven's gift has come to man.
Mortal fate rests
Within tiny hallowed hands.
Shepherds singing, a shining star,
Kings bearing gifts from afar.
A scene of serene glory,
The weight of a holy hush,
The meaning of heaven's story,
'Twas God's first CHRISTmas gift to us.
Who would recall the power of that day,
At the time when He was led away,
Bearing a crown, a robe, and fateful wounds?
Was He not the gift from heaven's womb?
Shall we turn from that holy day
And walk away unchanged?
Will we allow it to envelope our souls
Only to let it slowly slip away?
Through plastic, tinsel, parties and gifts,
Shopping, planning, and Christmas lights lit,
Can the simple gift be heard or seen,
Or does it quietly fade behind holiday sheen?
Let us not forget that He loves us so.
He loves us too much to let us go.
He sent a plan with His sacrifice
To forgive and cleanse and give us life.
Embrace the greatest gift of all;
Don't let your sense of the manger wane.
The gift of heaven is yours to receive.
It was the true reason He came.