That old cliché of hope in a new birth
Was His choice in this supreme miracle.
This failed world scorns it with disdainful mirth
And kneels instead for scams empirical.
Yet this sublime event returns like stars
And shoots across the skies of Babylon,
Making eyes brighten behind hellish bars
That keep us captive ‘til the eschaton.
So look to the heavens and see the child
Wrapped tightly in His mother’s agape.
Marvel at magi trekking through the wild
And the shepherds awed by the meek display.
Rid your heart of all your cynicism,
Present it as your grateful gift to Him.