My Favourite Christmas Poem

Years ago I found this poem somewhere and added it to my poetry collection book. I didn’t know who wrote it, but it spoke deeply to my heart, as I discovered how God ‘comes down His own secret stairs’ to me.

Much later, I found one of the verses as I was reading George MacDonald’s “The Lady’s Confession.” It was like meeting an old friend, and then getting to know the friend’s parents as well.

That Holy Thing

They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high:
Thou cams’t, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

O Son of Man, to right my lot
Naught but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea Thy sail!

My how or why Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou mayst answer all my need–
Yea, every bygone prayer. –George MacDonald

Then on the bottom of the page in my book is this:

About God’s plan: “The whole thing narrows and narrows, until it comes down to a little point, small as the point of a spear–a Jewish girl at her prayers.” –C.S. Lewis

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