Afar from rising of the sun
Unto the limit of the earth,
The Christ, our prince, now let us sing–
His holy Mary-virgined birth.

Behold: the author of the world,
Though blessed, is clothed in slave’s attire,
In order flesh by flesh to free
And save his creatures from the mire.

Concealed within the maiden’s womb,
The grace of heaven enters in;
Her belly does not know it bears
The secret saving us from sin.

Domained in Mary’s modesty,
God makes a temple of her breast.
How strange! Untouched, the girl brought forth
Her Son, the Word-created guest.

Ere long her labor bore the King
Whom Gabriel had once foretold,
Whom John’s prenatal preaching had
Before proclaimed with leaping bold.

For, sleeping, he did not despise
To take the prickling straw as bed;
A mother’s milk sustained the babe
By whom the birds of heav’n are fed.

“Good tidings!” chant celestial choirs
Of angels as God’s praises ring.
To shepherds now is manifest
The Shepherd who made everything.

How, Herod, can your hostile mind
Greet his arrival with dismay?
He gives eternal realms and does
Not grasp at kingdoms of a day.

Incensed conversely Magi came,
Judea’s star their mystic guide.
By light they seek the light; their gift
Declares that God with man abides.

Knave tyrant, do you hear the sound
Of mothers weeping for their dead,
The battered brood of baby boys
Whose sacrificial blood you shed?

Let down into the Jordan’s flood,
The Lamb of heaven made it pure–
The Lamb who took away our sins
With Worded water as the cure.

Miraculous deeds fathered faith
His Father was not man but God,
As sickly bodies found their strength
And corpses rose up at his nod.

New kind of power! Water jars
Suddenly blush and change their hue.
At Christ’s command, metamorphosed,
Unwatered wine the servants drew.

On bended knee, the captain begged
The Lord to grant health to his slave;
The ardent burning of belief
Snuffed out the fire the fever craved.

Pretending water was like rock
Stout Peter walked upon the sea;
Upheld by Christ’s right hand, his faith
Made paths denied naturally.

Quartered four days now, Lazarus,
A rotting corpse, recovered life,
And, freed from fetters moribund,
Survived his death and graveyard strife.

Red rivulets of ceaseless blood
Mere contact with Christ’s clothing dammed,
The sanguine flow made desiccate
By tearful faith’s extended hand.

Sold out by slack recusant limbs,
Commanded suddenly to rise,
The paralytic stood and walked,
His dormant bed borne off as prize.

Then hangman Judas, by design,
Unfeeling, with a kiss betrayed
His master, simulating peace–
“Disciple” just a part he played.

Veracity Itself by lies
Was given to ungodly men
And fastened, guiltless, to a cross
With scoundrels from a robbers’ den.

Xenian in their pious care,
The women brought myrrh to his tomb.
The angel told them he was gone;
He’d burst forth living from death’s womb.

Ye faithful, come, and let us sing
With sweetest hymns Christ’s victory,
Who, sold for silver, sacking hell,
Bought us back from sin’s penalty.

Zealous for blood, the serpent’s head
and lion’s mouth, devouring, God’s
Only-Begotten under foot
Has crushed and back to heaven trod.