The Women
©1993 Susan Noyes Anderson, Star Light, Star Books, Inc.
William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905)
They came to do Him honor,
weary-faced, and
stonily,
their footsteps traced
the path
to where He lay.
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They came to do Him honor,
weary-faced, and
stonily,
their footsteps traced
the path
to where He lay.
The day came when my mother’s brow
was creased with age and pain.
Her step was slow; her blue-veined hand
curled ‘round a walking cane.
I do believe that long ago in the eternities,
I was a bosom friend to you and you a friend to me.
We shared a bond, an understanding that was quick and sure.
I wonder if we knew that it would deepen and endure.
Our great grandparents knew about the harvest:
the months of labor gathered in with care…
the gratitude for every hard-earned blessing…
the love for home and hearth…the need to share.
We gather now before thee, Lord, united by our humble hearts
and bow our heads in gratitude for every gift that thou imparts
How excellent is thy name in all the earth
I.
Christ, our glorious Elder Brother
Noble, perfect, free from sin
Firstborn Son of Heavenly Father
In all things like unto Him
We all have heard the story, it’s been told and then retold,
about the birth of Jesus Christ in Bethlehem of old.
Yet every Christmastide the tale bears telling once again,
as we reflect on that sweet babe, born to redeem all men.
Tonight I walk beneath a gentle sky
where stars are warm and whisper, “Peace, be still.”
The silence beckons softly, as the moon
shines clear and bright upon a distant hill.