Harold Macdonald's Muse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harold Macdonald Christmas Poetry

 

 

 

Come Little Jesus Child

 

 

Harold Macdonald

Welcome, to the place of your own making

Strange your tastes preferring grime and grim

Where lives are snuffed on someoneís careless whim

Where hearts are breaking.

 

To the homeless under flimsy shelter

Huddled in the city parks and streets

Soaking in the seasonís rain and sleet

Or in summerís swelter. 

 

Did you think that Youíd be seen and heard

That people hurrying to their goals would care

Would stop, and lift a cover, see you there

listen to your Word

 

We who saw your sacrifice will tell your story

How love, not power, is the gate to glory

 

Midi: Sweet Little Jesus Boy