Merry Christmas

A poem

Mary trembles, Christmas morn
Endless God as infant born
Rows of seraphs throng the sky
Raising song to God Most High
YHWH born, Immanuel

Christ now born, his own to save
He would triumph o'er the grave
Rise, ascend, all yet to be.
Infant now, in manger see
See the child born for the tree.
Tree that should bear our misdeeds
Mighty God instead there bleeds
Alleluia, we all say:
Sing his song this blesséd day.

Merry Christmas, from the P3 office! God rest ye merry, gentlemen and ladies all.