I would love to write a letter
to Jesus in His crib,
but it seems in all His goodness,
He writes to me instead.
My thoughts would ne'er suffice Him,
O Babe, so mild and sweet!
His very thoughts,they come to me
as I lay them at His feet.
O Mild, O meek, O lovely,
the angels cluster 'round
and yet how we neglect Him
this Babe in manger found.
No mother has an infant
so oft' forlorn as He
How can we look upon Him
and not our harshness see?
O, world when will you waken,
O, crowd, kneel to the Lamb
For He is Christ our Savior,
this Babe of Bethlehem!
copyright: 2008 Stepahnie Rowe
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