The myrrh rolls down the ages, as does the frankincense and gold,
Three gifts now etched in history, in songs and stories told.
Strange gifts for a baby, not a toy or bib in sight,
Just camels and their riders, come hoofing through the night.
If we wondered on the meaning of these presents somewhat odd,
You’ve gold most likely for a king, and incense for a God.
But myrrh it must be said, is the one that makes you frown,
A new life gurgling in the hay, and myrrh just brings things down.
It speaks of embalming, of coating for a tomb,
And barely has this baby cooed when death walks in the room.
This newborn life here in the dark, holds light for you and me,
And even death won’t wipe him out, just you wait and see.
The gold will no doubt help, as the parents are quite poor,
And incense points to a King who’ll reign forevermore.
And though these presents were bought at some great price,
This tale is far more than just cosy or nice,
This Christmas child has come to give us more than a lift,
He’s come to give his life as the greatest gift.
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