Gentle Jesus.
Born a King.
You laid in a foul feeding trough,
appearing to many as humbly.
O Precious Prince,
you were hunted down
and brutally beaten
like a lamb led to the slaughter.
O Beautiful Savior,
you were so brave to die for me.
Prior to your divine descent
your heavenly Father kissed
your itty-bitty forehead,
knowing that a great King
you’d one day be.
But the price you’d pay
would be a costly crown
woven together
to mock God’s kingdom
and fit your skull perfectly.
He cupped your little hands
and massaged your pink infant feet
knowing that at the appointed time
nails of raw Roman iron
would penetrate your innocent hide.
He formed your ribs in place
and covered them with muscle and skin.
He touched your side,
wiping a tear from His eye,
leaving just enough room
for a sharp spear to hide.
He held you in His arms—
one last time—
and whispered in your tiny ear,
“O sweet Child of mine
with whom I am well-pleased.
“The King of the Jews
is born to die
to pay the price
that will suffice
the world’s most significant sacrifice.
“It’s sad yet true,
this world won’t have room for you,
lest you be hung
on a splintered cross.
“But don’t be dismayed—
my Son—
your rehearsed resurrection
is the world’s gain
and Satan’s loss.”