Without a great fanfare the child has been born, and from their long journey his parents are worn. The shepherds, the magi and wise men bring gifts to the trough where He sits.
A twelve-year-old boy getting lost in the streets, strikes fear in his mother who frantically seeks. Reading from Isaiah the voice there is his, the temple’s where He sits.
Being baptized by John he went out to fast. When Satan had tempted right down to his last, then the angels bring food and water to him in the wild where He sits.
He teaches and preaches and raises the dead, and tells a parapaleic to take up his bed. He speaks to the demons and tells them to get, there’s power where He sits.
On the cross he died for all sins yours and mine, He cried “It is finished” it is for all time. Though many have searched for his body in pits, come and see where He sits.
On Christmas morning celebrating his birth, we rush to the tree or we sit by the hearth. With glee in our hearts we start opening gifts, the corner’s where He sits.
Neglected by most on his own special day, creator of all, even this by the way, He is the Lord of lords, and the King of kings, on the throne’s where He sits.
Rejected, neglected and been pushed aside, still He watches us all with love in His eyes. Saying “come to me, I’ll erase all your sins.” In mercy’s where He sits.
The choice is so simple any child will agree, choose heaven or hell to spend eternity. Give Him your heart and accept His great gift, then He’ll smile where He sits.