Most Sacred Night
Michael Kositsky

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Dark, Most Sacred Night

The breeze blows soft amid the desert air.

With sweet perfume

the palm tree sways.

Oh, He is born - Immanuel Lord

Safe, the young child sleeps

While stable beasts, wise men surround his crib.

With gladsome voice, the angels sing;

He is born - Immanuel Lord

Light, the light of all the earth is here

Beside the tiny babe the mother of the world gives praise;

Oh, He us born

Most sacred night.

poem by Lynne Kositsky

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