Back to Bethlehem? Back to a stable
so long gone dust? Do you think me able
to telescope time, to reconstruct
two thousand years with a caroled fable,
a word bridge flung as a viaduct
for moonbent minds which can't remember
as far back as Lincoln?
But thought was cold,
thought was dark—mankind's deep December.
There was no room at the inn. We're told
they slept in a stable without an ember
in hearth or heart to cushion the hard
impact of night spawned by ignorance,
a glacial age of creeds whose shards
cut the quick mind. And yet innocence
was born with dominion there: a star
blazed in the East through time's cerements
to resuscitate words breathed under far
forgotten synagogue lamps: the Son
given us, born unto us to be
Prince of Peace, Counsellor, mighty one
shouldering government, setting free
from fear and everything fear has done.
And men, victimized by disease and lack,
must follow you, child. We must go back.
