Long the night

Long the night but kind the dawn
In Bethlehem where her son was born.
She touched his side and stroked his head
As she gently laid him to bed.
She held his hands, she kissed his feet,
She sang to see a sight so sweet:
In excelsis gloria.
In the hills the iron lay
What men would beat into nails one day,
Where the thorn tree roots go down
That men would twist to a crown.
In the wood where an axe would ring
To cut a cross that would bear a king,
Mary’s voice rose from afar:
In excelsis gloria.

Alik Rowe