Men of Old
No poem this year (see Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh for the past three years’ mourning trilogy), just a simple verse from a great Carol.
In the heavenly country bright,
Need they no created light;
Thou its Light, its Joy, its Crown,
Thou its Sun which goes not down;
There for ever may we sing
Alleluias to our King.
One day we will join them singing praises there.
Have a great Christmas.
Hmm, surely ‘Men of Old’ is more easily conducive to poetry than the previous years’ more tricky language? e.g. –
Men of Old
In the cold
With some gold
Y’all been told
and so on ;)
Merry Christmas everyone! :-)