I Saw Him Bloodied, Twice

I enter the grimy cave,
The stench assails my nose,
I lean upon my stave,
And move into the glow,
Held by the care-worn man,
O’er that holy scene,
The maid, the babe, the feed-stand
Stood in the straw unclean.
Blood mixed and saturated,
With lambs’-filth in the straw,
Held this Divine incarnated.
Here lay Love in raw.

His mother lay like steel,
A smile bright, but pale,
We there before him kneel,
His father – strong and hale –
His father on this earth,
Low’rs his light to peer,
At this, the child’s birth,
And sheds a grateful tear.
We knew why He was there,
We know just who he was.
The angels in the air,
Had told it all to us.

Yet hidden in the back,
The sheep eat straw, oblivious.
Poor hosts with little tact,
Ignore this baby glorious.
Yet to His sheep would He,
Give His new life to feed.
Who were those sheep, were we?
Owned by the Bread that bleeds?
I saw Him bloodied, twice,
Last on a tree so rough.
This Bread of Life, the Christ,
Served in a feeding-trough.


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