Two Kings

Whose star this is, I do not know.

It gleams on high o’er sand and snow:

My camel plods with heavy hoof,

Illumined by its breathless glow.

O’er mighty dune and windswept bluff,

I ride on, comfortless and rough,

My empty heart forsaking home;

The universe is not enough . . .

‘Cross hills and seasides I now roam,

Lone silhouette against the foam,

Seeking this star: three gleaming pearls

Fastened within the sky’s dark dome.

My crown weighs heavy on my curls.

Gnarled and weak, my old hand furls

Around my meager gift of gold—

The star ahead now leaps and twirls!

My camel halts. Now I behold

The One to Whom I bring my gold.

My fingers fail. My offering

Smashes on the hillside cold.

The stench of sheep, the wind’s cruel sting

Enfold the birthplace of this King.

Yet tears drip from my weary eyes.

I hear the voice of Morning sing.

Gently glory floods the skies

And paints the cave wherein He lies.

I cower to the frozen ground.

I do not have the strength to rise.

The Infant makes a laughing sound.

His fingers clasp mine all around.

The hand that holds eternity

Now pulls me from the frozen ground.

I look through all my tears and see

The gift this Child desires is me!

I kiss His small hand joyfully!

I kiss His small hand joyfully!

By Mary Faustina

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