The Story Without End

There’s a story we know so well,

One we love to tell.

It's been called the story without end.

It has been told again and again.

A story as old as time,

It has survived many lifetimes.

Who hasn’t heard the story

Of how, Jesus, in all of his glory,

In one immaculate birth

Came to earth?

To those who believe,

It is neither myth nor prodigy of the rumor mill.

It is Biblical prophesy fulfilled.

To those who might ask, “How can it be?”

I ask, “How can you not see

The beauty of all his hands has made?”

The green grass, like a carpet, he laid.

His play goes unrehearsed

Throughout the universe.

He, the author of time,

Has written every line.

The flowers, trees, and skies,

Humming birds and butterflies,

The stars that sparkle brilliantly,

The ever-reaching sea,

The sun that shines down on us each day,

The waves that mysteriously roll away,

Are evidence of his power and glory.

It’s all a part of the never-ending story.

He created all that we can see

Just by uttering the words, “Let there be.”

The master of earth and sky,

Keeps the birds soaring through the sky.

He created the mountains, hills and plains,

And he waters them with the rain.

How can we not see the little miracles he gives us every day?

Like a Shepherd, he knows if just one sheep goes astray.

It is he who makes the cattle on a thousand hills

And whisper to the raging sea, “Peace be still.”

To those who will ask,” How can he be?”

I ask, “How can you not see the beauty of his majesty?”
Whether or not you believe the story is true

Is up to you,

Regardless, the story will live on

Long after we are gone

For it is a story without end

That will continue to be told again and again.

copyright 2011 P. Newman-Harris