Let Her Dream

Walk gently little donkey for you bear

The patient waiting Mary as your load.

The silent Joseph breathes an anxious prayer

And, pondering, walks beside you on the road.

O little lamps of Heaven, softly shine,

Reveal the wonderment in Mary's eyes:

A kingly little, son, His sire divine!

Remembered angel-words still bring surprise.

Dreaming, she smiles and sees a path of glory.

The night is brightened by a strange new star,

The angels have begun to sing their story,

The Magi journey from their lands afar.

Ahead lies Calvary. Stars, softly gleam.

Walk gently little donkey, let her dream.

Midwest Chaparral

That You May Find the King

These gifts I wish for you this Christmas day,
These simple gifts the heart may ever hold:
The faith to see the Holy Star's clear ray
Leading to Bethlehem; the treasured gold
Minted from friendship through the changing years;
The frankincense of hope to ease despair;
The myrrh of love that will illume your tears
Revealing Heaven through the gate of prayer.
From the garden of your heart may you give flowers
Petaled with all the beauty you have known
To burgeon for another's perilous hours--
Who walks with beauty never walks alone.
These gifts I wish for you and may they bring
The chrism of peace that you may find the King.

I Shall Keep Faith

Though Christmas may not be within my heart,

I shall keep faith with my brave son who died

A martyr on that far Korean shore

Where terror's horsemen ride.

Then hang the holly and the mistletoe

And light the Yuletide candles; trim the tree--

Dear God, pin back death's curtain with a star

That he may see.

The Archer

First in Archer Christmas Contest

When Every Heart Accepts

The little donkey will be journeying
To Bethlehem again this Christmas Eve;
Still gently will he step, the unborn King
Upon his back. Will Mary have to leave
The blazing Inn to seek a stable bed?
Will shepherds listen to the angel song
With man-made spheres exploding overhead;
Jets cleaving spaceways through a starry throng?
The patient donkey's journey will be done
When every heart accepts the Holy One.

Mary's Lullaby

Not long the road to Bethlehem, not long:
The hours sped swiftly for I spun a song,
A lullaby that I would sing with joy
When I would hold Him close--God's little boy.
The notes I plucked from beauty on my way:
Lithe amber willows with their furry-gray:
(Would He love little kittens?) ancient palms,
An avenue of harps that strummed the psalms
Of David like a prayer; an olive tree
Wherein a dove was nesting; (He would be
The Prince of Peace.) a linnet fluting through
The quietude of skies of April-blue;
The lilies of the fields shy-whispering;
The grasses by the roadside new with spring.
From all of this I spun a song for Him.
(Would He love catkins on a willow limb?)

The donkey--Joseph leading--stepped so slow
And carefully, I wondered: did he know
He bore the unborn King? As dusk descended--
A few more notes and my song would be ended--
Came drowsy night-sounds ... Did a shadow flee?
One long discordant note wail Calvary?
No, not in my joy-lullaby! Instead,
A cradle moon low-hanging overhead
Recalled the waiting cradle Joseph made...
Travailing pain ... Yet I was unafraid
For high above there shone the Moving Star
And Joseph spoke, "Not far, my dear, not far!"

When I lay resting on the fragrant hay
I thought of all the beauty on my way
And sang the lullaby that I had spun
For I was holding close, God's little Son.

Madonna of the Woodland

The Wise-Men pines looked down upon her child
Cradled beside her in a snowy bed
Of curling bracken. Forest-dark was aisled
With moonlight. As the silver silence spread
On shepherd cedars kneeling in their awe,
The night wind's muted song a lullaby,
This gentle mother of the woodland saw
A strange new star that moved across the sky;
And shining down upon the bracken bed
It made a halo for her young fawn's head.

Would There Be Room

If Christ should come to Bethlehem tonight

And ask for lodging at the blazing inn,

Would there be room? Or would He know the plight

That came to Mary? Would a stable's din

Fall on His ears? His bed be fragrant hay?

Would He be mocked and spat upon and die?

Would some new Pilate wash his hands and say,

"I find no fault, but you may crucify"?

Or have the mills of time in grinding made

His own to know; to hear again His voice--

"Let not your hearts be troubled or afraid"?

If Christ should come tonight, would they, through choice,

Inscribe their banner--wave it high, unfurled--

"Jesus of Nazareth, ruler of the world!"?

His Were Patient Feet

The feet of Joseph, walking mile on mile,

Were willing feet. The donkey following

His lead avoided every stone: He bore

The unborn King.

Mary, who saw their feet were tiring, knew

She must reach Bethlehem to bear her Son.

She smiled at Joseph, knowing he too dreamed

Of the Little One.

The Babe's first cry dispelled his weariness

When resting in a stable sweet with hay.

He thought of the waiting cradle as he knelt

Where the Infant lay.

Oh, his were patient feet, not hesitant:

When an angel bade, they crossed the desert sand

Fleeing to Egypt. Wearied, Joseph touched

A little hand.

And was renewed--Time passed. Returning home,

The Little One would often coax to walk

Beside him; leave small footprints by his own.

The Wee Lad's talk

Awoke his father-love: What joy to work

Together in his shop ... until He grew!

All wisely would he guide those little feet,

For he knew ... He knew!

Shine Softly Stars

Shine softly little lamps of night

That God hung in the sky;

O cooling breezes, gently blow

And hum a lullaby;

For on the road from Bethlehem

The radiant Mary smiles.

Her baby's tiny fingers cling

And joy illumes the miles--

Remembering the strange new star,

Once more the angels sing;

Again the Magi bring her babe

Their costly offering.

While silent Joseph standing near

Bows reverently his head,

Again the lowly shepherds kneel

Beside the manger-bed--

The little donkey's feet are sure.

Led by his master's hand,

Does he not bear a sacred load

Across the desert sand?

The baby sleeps in Mary's arms;

Her eyes, with wonder, shine.

A kingly little son is hers

To love--His sire divine.

Moon-Mother, veil the face of night

With moonbeams, sheer and thin;

Shut out the harsh world from her heart

And keep but joy therein.

O radiant Mary, dream your dreams

While little night lamps glow;

The road that leads to Calvary

Tonight, you need not know.

A New Star Rises

Old carols--

Peace ... good will ...

Are worn threadbare.

The words:

Angels, shepherds, Magi,

Stable and moving Star

Obsolete.

My gifts:

A new pin-up--my girl in her wedding gown;

(She married the fellow at home.)

A new rifle.

The cry of a child dying--

(Not of the Babe, new-born)

The footfalls of communism in the distance--

Not receding--

And two years in the army.

I am only a soldier--

But a new star rises in Nevada,

Holy and Chill.

Christmas Pastoral

No artist stitched with a frosted thread
The night for the Magi who journeyed far,
Nor decked the shepherds with snow ... Instead
Were lilied-hillsides with overhead
A cradle moon and a moving Star.

A King Is Born

Prelude--Joseph Ponders
And Joseph pondered and was sad of heart

For his beloved Mary was with child.

Her virgin purity! (His teardrops start.)

Her uncrushed-petaled-sweetness, and her mild

Sweet womanhood seemed suddenly as naught!

He could not understand, but this he knew:

He would not shame her openly. He thought

To put her quietly away. When to

His harassed thoughts a Heaven-sent answer came--

An angel, smiling, said, "Be of good cheer

For that which Mary bears partakes no shame--

A Son of God, born to a virgin here."

So Joseph pledged her troth, and love and peace

Were theirs while waiting for the Lord's increase.

To Bethlehem

Upon the little donkey Mary rode

With Joseph striding manfully beside.

The little creature sensed a sacred load--

Was Mary not his kindly master's bride,

Now delicate in health! He picked his way

And stumbled not, avoided every stone.

He loved to hear her laugh, but as the day

Wore on, he often heard a stifled moan

Within her patient yet pathetic voice.

Her Joseph's smile would cheer her, and his kiss,

His "Courage, Mary," bade her to rejoice.

(Could Heaven, she wondered, be more dear than this!)

Her babe would wear a kingly diadem--

They must push on and soon reach Bethlehem.

Nativity

The little donkey did his very best

But every movement brought a cry of pain,

Then Joseph took her in his arms to rest,

But very soon they started on again

For Mary urged, "Press on. My infant son,

He must be born where prophets have forsaid,

In Bethlehem." And when, their journey done,

There was no room for Mary ... nor a bed ...

She went exultant, sweet, but not forlorn,

Began travail with only Heavenly king.

So in a hay-filled manger He was born--

The King of Kings--amid a stable's din.

The little donkey gave a reverent nod,

For he had carried here the Son of God.

Three Little Magi

Three little Magi, as I follow you
I find again the world of wonder through
The shops festooned with stars that blaze and blink--
Brighter the shining stars that dance and twink
Within the blue of your exploring eyes--
Humbly I follow who am Grandma-wise.
While watching your rapt faces, your small hands
Caressing gifts with awe, on quiet sands
Of Galilee I walk with One adoring
And blessing little children. My heart outpouring
With love acclaims the Christmas miracle--

Three little Magi, with their beautiful,
Sweet marveling, their radiant reverence,
Lead me through wonder trails of innocence.