Advent to Candlemas (Vol. 3)

Ah Me!

Sleep helpless babe:
The shepherds now are gone,
Sweet straw to lay upon,
A lamb to keep you warm,
The wind a wistful moan.

See, lowly child:
The glittering of gold,
The sacrifice foretold,
The promise of the tomb,
The power that soon grows cold.

Flee, victim child:
The soldiers slash and beat
Avenging Herod's seat;
Young mothers scream and weep
As blood flows in the street.

Ah me!
Your helplessness so sweet,
Your lowliness so meet,
Victim in our defeat:
The only king
To share our suffering.