In dark and dismal winter days,
the dying of the year,
the soul is seared with bitterness,
the heart oppressed with fear.
But Advent kindles welcome hope,
and in that hope we sing
on this, the Feast of Nicholas,
the praise of Christ our King.
In days of peril, danger, sword,
Saint Nicholas endured:
by chains confined, to cell consigned,
he served the risen Lord
whose cross he bore each day with joy,
whose Gospel path he trod;
a faithful bishop in the Church,
a servant of our God.
His flock he tended by the sea,
the deep was all their toil;
on white-flecked wave their ships sailed home
with corn and wine and oil.
But when, in ocean’s rage and swell
their hearts and hopes would break,
Good Nicholas would fall to prayer,
“and all for Jesu’s sake.”
To fill them with the finest wheat
he emptied out his purse;
the humble poor were his delight,
to Kings he was a curse:
the innocent he saved from death
when justice fled the land;
he trusted in God’s strength, and stayed
the executioner’s hand.
And when he heard a father’s grief
(“Three daughters! All in thrall;
condemned to brutal slavery,
the vilest trade of all …”),
he freed them from their cruel bonds:
his gold he freely shared;
a dowry gave he them who thus
for love by love were spared.
Such is the tale of Nicholas,
whose fame will never fade,
who, for the sake of God-made-flesh,
preserved the flesh God made:
and, as we share in Christmas gifts,
we praise the God who gives
himself. the greatest gift of all,
to us, and all that lives.
Sophie Fowler, b. 1963