Pleased as Man with Men to Dwell

We have this cheesy clock in our kitchen at Christmas time.  It has snowmen on the face, and on the hour, it serenades us with a carol.  We love it.  Even my over-efficient, get-rid-of-everything-cheesy-and-sentimental husband loves it.  And the littles get super excited. Every. Single. Time.  It's great.

Usually, as it's just a music box melody, I don't even register what song is playing.  But, often, I will find myself singing or humming the song as I go about my business.  That's what happened today.  11 o'clock sped by as it so often does.  Music played.  Two little voices said, "I hear music!" And then, I started vacuuming, and singing.  Yeah, those two don't go together, especially since there were two toddlers screaming, as they like to do whenever I vacuum.  (The decibels in our house might have been a little out of control.)

And then, I started crying.  Not because of the noise and confusion (read: chaos).  Not even, I propose, because I'm 7 months pregnant.  Because of these old words:

Mild He lays His glory by

Born that man no more may die

Born to raise the sons of earth

Born to give them second birth

Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see

Hail the incarnate Deity

Pleased as man with men to dwell

Jesus, our Immanuel

That's it, isn't it?  In poetry more beautiful than I could ever pen, the whole reason for the season.  Not family, or giving, certainly not trees or new toys or food.   Born to raise the sons of earth.  Born to give them second birth.  

Not bad for clock.