On The Night of Christ’s Incarnation
Across the sky, and still the sheep of bare
Fields play, while shepherds curse a day too brusque,
Unable to see the celestial fair.
They do not know that tonight the sky sings,
While the soft night wind whispers a story,
So long ago told, of heavenly things,
Reflected in iridescent glory.
And angels, too, play in the speckled sky,
Made even darker by the falling night;
They also sing songs still unknown, nearby
A place soon made holy by divine might.
Do the night winds know of such holy deeds?
Do dim cabin lights show an awareness
Of beauty beyond God’s moist, grassy meads,
And beauty beyond all known blessedness?
Perhaps not, though angelic song is still
Heard through the darkness and this silent field,
And something greater than stars and moon fill
Time with grace to which earthly children yield.
How does one capture the ineffable
Deeds of a God humbly formed human,
Whose reasons not yet understandable
May soon be revealed in some ordered plan?
With God mighty, though reduced, and man raised
To inexplicable heights of holy
Dignity, surely he is left unpraised,
Unrecognized in some order lowly.
And he, surely unworshipped and unknown,
Remains, a fleshy infant, though stronger,
Of knowledge, void and full, and love, soon sown
In the name of pain endured no longer.
Holy angels, sing. Sing for those who do
Know, sing for those who shall never know, and
Sing for those who shall know this life made new,
And the life made new of this blessed land.
Celestial sky, that celebrates in fair
And song, sing. Stars and moon forever dance.
There is something divine now in this air:
A new hope, that puts all in joyous trance.
Jacob Aplaca is a junior at Loyola Marymount University, Westchester.
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