December 15, 2023
The incarnation of our Savior has elicited poetry and praise from the very time of His conception in Mary's womb, as we see in the gospel accounts and in all the hymns written about the birth of Jesus. The fact of the eternal Son of God becoming a man without ceasing to be God—becoming a human without spot or stain of sin—coming as the fulfillment of all the prophecies of old—has powerfully moved the heart and mind of men and women. Not all the poetry about Jesus' birth was written to be sung, however.
John Milton's 17th century "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity" is one great example. It's a longer poem, and the first two stanzas are beautiful:
This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heav'n's high council-table,
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside, and here with us to be,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Another example is Robert Southwall's 16th century "The Nativity of Christ," which highlights the paradoxes of the incarnation:
Behold: the father is his daughter’s son,
The bird that built the nest, is hatched therein,
The old of years, an hour hath not outrun,
Eternal life, to live doth now begin,
The Word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.
O dying souls, behold your living Spring!
O dazzled eyes, behold your Son of Grace!
Dull ears, attend what word this Word doth bring!
Up, heavy hearts: with joy your joy embrace!
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs,
This life, this light, this Word, this joy repairs.
Gift better than Himself, God doth not know,
Gift better than his God, no man can see;
This gift doth here the giver Given bestow,
Gift to this gift let each receiver be:
God is my gift, Himself he freely gave me,
God’s gift am I, and none but God shall have me.
Man altered was by sin from man to beast;
Beasts’ food is hay, hay is all mortal flesh;
Now God is flesh, and lies in Manger pressed,
As hay, the brutest sinner to refresh:
O happy field wherein this fodder grew,
Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew!
May the Lord bless your meditations on the good news of Jesus Christ, who partook of the same flesh and blood that we have in order that "through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and might free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives" (Hebrews 2:14-15).