Paradox
A Sonnet for Advent
Who sang the stars to life born ‘neath their light
Who shaped the earth now shaped in humble womb
Clasping fingers that once held all heaven’s might
Whose gifts at birth foretold a dark, stone tomb
A cornerstone who shaped man out of clay
And then breathed life within then breathed His last
Whose dying broke death’s door at dawn of day
In darkness that the shade might overpass
Such paradox, the strange myth of this story
Raised in power yet first taken by the grave
A suffering servant drawn to eternal glory
A Savior who Himself He did not save
Dark world below now brightened from above
A story written by the hand of love
