I have no gold to crown Him King,
I have no frankincense, no myrrh.
I cannot bring Him anything
that Lord or Baby might prefer.
But still I have my place in line,
behind those Three who went before,
and many thousands since besides,
who spread their offerings on His floor.
What they have brought I cannot see—
what gems, what fine and noble deeds,
what eloquence of poetry
to pray through strings of jeweled beads.
And here am I—my hands are full
of nothing good that I can see.
Poor possessions, few and dull
accomplishments, a broken knee,
a mood that’s unpredictable,
a few bad habits, wandering thoughts…
but something irresistible
won’t let me turn away. I cross
the threshold. Here the light of day
shines from a cradle, showing me
what gifts are tucked amidst the hay,
there for Him and me to see.
And all of them in Truth appear,
what gold and jewels cannot hide,
what royal gifts beyond compare:
a thousand hearts, with mine beside.
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