O come, O come, my God as human come
With flesh and sinews hug my brittle form.
Enliven spirit that through grief grows numb
And calm the overwhelming inner storm.
Be still, be still, I am your needed guide
And I shall come and we’ll together hide.
O come, Thou light mist needed in the dark
And show me sin that I dressed up as good.
In weakness I have grasped for pleasures stark
To soothe this vicious void as if I could.
Be still, be still I am your promised bliss
And I shall come to enter your abyss.
O come, Thou source of her infectious joy
and give to me what she no longer gives;
A childlike glee for the expected boy
And trust that he in resurrection lives.
Be still, be still, I am your faithful friend
And I shall come to give your grief an end.
O come, thou comfort of the lonely, hold
Out the hope that in this house you’ll roam,
Where tacky tinsel decked still leaves me cold
And make again this hollow house our home.
Be still, be still, your God as human born
Will come and heal the wound that grief has torn.
Written on 8th December 2018 as I reflected on the first Christmas as a widow.