scene is familiar. A baby is sleeping.
His mother’s worn out. It’s been a hard day.
A few hours before she was groaning and weeping,
just a child, giving birth in the usual way.
place doesn’t matter, except it’s not cosy
the way that the prettiest Christmas cards say,
with kings humbly kneeling, the stable all rosy,
the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
the carol constructed so neatly—
the cattle are lowing, the baby awakes.
Forget the Sundayschool singing so sweetly
that little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
baby is crying. The baby is human
and the baby is God and he cries with the shock.
He cries for the keys to his coming kingdom.
He cries for the devil who first picked the lock.
cries for the mother whose heart will be broken.
He cries for the children that Herod will find.
He cries for the father whose fears are unspoken
but for ever will trouble his uncertain mind.
cries for food in a land ploughed by famine.
He cries for freedom behind a barred door.
He cries for a judge who will come and examine
the reasons for sin and the causes of war.
cries for the rich, who on hearing him crying
lean over and say There now, give us a smile!
He cries for the camps full of refugees dying—
his tears are the
cries for all pharisees, each of them giving .
the reasons why sadly they have to refuse.
He cries out for Lazarus, both dead and living.
He cries for two thousand years of excuse
cries for the strength that he needs to prepare him .
to learn obedience in thirty long years.
Good Friday will come. Death will not spare him:
the world will at last be baptised with his tears
His crying at night is his effort to waken
the sleeping and dead whom he came to live through.
He cries to the God who must leave him forsaken.
He cries out to me. He cries out to you.
for the carol service at
The poem was edited in 2017, removing two verses (between verses 8 and 9).
Typical performance time: 2 minutes 15 seconds.
© Godfrey Rust, firstname.lastname@example.org. See here for details of permissions for use.