Last year I was so excited for Christmas. My blog and my life were chock-full of it.

This year, not so much. I’ve gone through the motions, more for my boys than anything, but none of it has felt very special. We hung up some lights, we got our Christmas tree, we baked the dreaded sugar cookies. We wrapped gifts, and we revisited our Luke 2 memorization.

All without the sparkle that it held last year.

Thank goodness then that there is more to Christmas than the sparkle.

 

The Little Angel

From dark to light the Voice speaks life,
And worlds and souls take wing.
From heav'n the guardians look down;
A little angel sings.

From light to dark men's hearts soon turn,
A selfish path they keep.
And as he sees their fall begin,
The little angel weeps.

Years upon years, with sorrow vast,
What evil mortals sow.
But of the love that waits for them
The little angel knows.

A baby's born in Bethlehem,
Into a silent night,
And when he sees such innocence,
The little angel cries.

"Peace on the earth," sounds o'er the hills
As heaven's praises ring,
Yet when the glorias have stilled,
The little angel sings.

He sings of life that came to die,
Of love stronger than fate.
And as the child grows to a man,
The little angel waits.

The people flock to follow Him;
They sit upon a slope;
They drink in deep His every word;
The little angel hopes.

Then comes the robe, the crown of thorns,
A man condemned to die.
As all the world laughs Him to scorn,
The little angel cries.

The cross looms darkly through the gloom;
The thieves and soldiers scream.
And though the tears roll down his cheeks,
The little angel sings.

Three days, three endless, blackened days
End in a rising sun.
The grave is emptied of its prize:
The Holy One has come.

The world awakes with beauty bright:
She knows her risen King.
And though men will deny Him yet,
The little angel sings.

Now years beyond the grave and cross
I, too, my voice would fling
To shout the praises of my God
And with the angels sing.

Michayla Roth © 2014