https://youtu.be/pDqK9dK-BVg

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

(Church of the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ)

I.

In a small Eastern European town,
A painter swiftly walked on through the square
Of the city, past old roofs colored brown.

There was a metallic smell in the air,
Caused by the rain, once it had ceased to fall,
And there were shallow puddles everywhere.

The steeple of a cathedral rose tall
Above the cold, rigid cobblestone ground,
And statues of saints stood over each wall.

Each day before Mass, the bells would resound,
And summon the townspeople from their home
To gather and worship from all around.

They left their farms, and stopped plowing the loam,
To praise the Lord beneath a spacious dome.

II.

As the painter entered through the front door,
His eyes met the dark, and the air was cold,
And a soft light reflected on the floor.

The candleholders lined up past the old
Wooden benches slowly guided his view,
Through the daylight, to an altar of gold.

As he walked down the aisle, past the front pew,
He looked up above the altar, and saw
The colored glass gently sparkled with dew.

Admiring the altarpiece with awe,
He saw a statue of his Holy King,
Which was crafted without a single flaw.

He looked up at the cathedral ceiling,
And a choir of angels began to sing.

III.

With the first strokes of his brush, he began
Painting an image upon the plaster—
Envisioning a beautiful woman.

Diligently, he kept working faster—
As her heavenly form was developed,
He painted with the skills of a master.

Throughout each day that he labored, he hoped
For this to be his finest work ever,
And made sure his scaffold was safely roped.

As he painted her clothes, he was clever
In how he had selected each color—
The whole process was quite an endeavor.

Every day, she came to life even more,
And he worked harder than ever before.

IV.

With the Blessed Virgin now completed,
The artist began constructing Her throne—
Where She would remain peacefully seated.

A young child soon sat in Her lap alone,
Reigning as the only begotten Son—
The pair had taken on lives of their own.

Once the two angels above them were done,
The painter crafted a star to be seen,
And the Three Magi soon joined everyone.

They all surrounded the Heavenly Queen,
To bring gifts and adore the newborn boy,
Recalling the art from the Byzantine.

The painter looked at the scene with great joy,
And gave a silent thanks for his employ.

V.

The painter gently lowered his scaffold—
Once he reached the floor, he looked back up high,
And watched the Nativity Scene unfold.

The Christmas Star lit up the late-night sky
Over where the Madonna and Her child
Were seated—Where the peaceful angels fly.

All who had come from near and far were filed
Up in lines on each side to praise their King,
And the young baby Jesus softly smiled.

Each of those who approached held gifts to bring
To His Majesty on this holy night,
And their prayers rose above each angel’s wing.

As the painter’s eyes scanned from left to right,
He reveled in its ethereal sight.

VI.

The bishop arrived the following day,
And the clergy were now allowed access,
To view the painter’s new work on display.

At each future service they would address,
They knew the painting would always hold true
To them, and all the townspeople they bless.

The sight of Mary dressed in white and blue
Brought hope for miracles to be restored—
Causing their faith and their peace to renew.

Each Sunday, their prayers rose up toward
This large painting of His Majesty’s birth—
As they all gathered to worship the Lord.

A constant reminder of the true worth
Of good will towards men and peace on Earth.

VII.

The painter’s new work had been met with praise,
And after he walked out, waving his hand,
The people’s excitement went on for days.

As worshipers came from across the land,
To see what others were talking about,
They were greeted with a feeling quite grand.

People continued to come in and out—
Every time the painter walked down the street,
Some people would clap and joyfully shout.

And he would shout on the tips of his feet,
“The glory is His! It should not be mine!”
These very words he would always repeat

For those who patiently waited in line
To eat the Lord’s bread and to drink His wine.