SLOWLY, SLOWLY

Slowly, slowly to the manger
all are drawn unto the child,
unto the baby born of Mary
sweet and tender, meek and mild.

Hush now, let us not awaken
the wee one from His blissful sleep,
on bended knee bow low before Him
this vision in our hearts to keep.

Wrapped in swaddling clothes He lays there
on a mattress made of hay,
Mary and Joseph smile their tender greetings
as shepherds come to kneel and pray.

Slowly, slowly kings are coming
from the east their numbers three,
a bright star high up in the heavens
leads them to the place they long to be.

Hosannah in the highest heaven
is the song the angels sing,
it rings out over hill and valley
the news, the birth of Christ the King.

Slowly, slowly, I go stealing
near to Him so I can give,
the only gift I know will please Him
my love, my life, long as I live.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Dec. 08, 1995