Advent Poems: Light Advent Poetry – Advent Story

Advent Poems: Light Advent Poetry - Advent Story
Advent Poems: Light Advent Poetry – Advent Story

Hey Everyone Happy Advent 2016 to all of you… Today we are going to share Advent Poems for Kids and Family. These are Best Light Advent Poetry for Everyone. which all will like and also you can easy save this Poems for WhatsApp and Facebook. We have collected the Best New Year Images they’re really inspirational, Religious, Funny and shareable with friends on any social networking sites or App like Twitter and Hike etc. You can pick below mentioned Best Advent Poems for Children and Advent Poems and Prose for Family.

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1.
“Good is the flesh that the Word has become,
good is the birthing, the milk in the breast,
good is the feeding, caressing and rest,
good is the body for knowing the world,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.

Good is the body for knowing the world,
sensing the sunlight, the tug of the ground,
feeling, perceiving, within and around,
good is the body, from cradle to grave,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.

Good is the body, from cradle to grave,
growing and aging, arousing, impaired,
happy in clothing, or lovingly bared,
good is the pleasure of God in our flesh,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.

Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh,
longing in all, as in Jesus, to dwell,
glad of embracing, and tasting, and smell,
good is the body, for good and for God,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”
— Brian Wren

2.
“The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that the villagers can say
‘The church looks nice’ on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,
Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze,
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says ‘Merry Christmas to you all’.

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children’s hearts are glad.
And Christmas-morning bells say ‘Come!’
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window’s hue,
A Baby in an ox’s stall ?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.”
— John Betjeman

3.
“They thought God would refuse.
He always had before. To the Jews
He was as silent
as a glass of cold water,
that is until He bent
down to hear His own daughter.
Like Merlin and Vivian, so shrewd,
one could not tell the difference
between the Wooer and the Wooed.
She, the young plant, broke His indifference.
He never saw His own hand in her making.
She was so perfect, so herself, so still,
that she made His heart thrill
for His own out-breaking.
Then God said Yes, and at once was used
for her intaking.
(Did God get confused
as we, at His first lovemaking?)
But in the end, nothing was able
to come between us and Him.
God became impregnable
and Mary soared like the Seraphim.”
— Pamela Cranston

4.
“Look how long
the weary world waited,
locked in its lonely cell,
guilty as a prisoner.

As you can imagine,
it sang and whistled in the dark.
It hoped. It paced and puttered about,
tidying its little piles of inconsequence.

It wept from the weight of ennui,
draped like shackles on its wrists.
It raged and wailed against the walls
of its own plight.

But there was nothing
the world could do
to find its own freedom.
The door was shut tight.

It could only be opened
from the outside.

Who could believe the latch
would be turned by a pink flower
the tiny hand
of a newborn baby?”
— Pamela Cranston

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5.
“See how this homeless babe lifted
himself down into his humble Crèche
and laid his tender glove
of skin against that splintered wood –
found refuge in that rack
of raspy straw – home
on that chilly dawn, in sweetest
silage, those shriven stalks.

See how this outcast King lifted
himself high upon his savage Cross,
extended the regal banner
of his bones, draping himself
upon his throne – his battered feet,
his wounded hands not fastened
there by nails but sewn
by the strictest thorn of Love.”
— Pamela Cranston

6.
“THE STABLE

The winds were scornful,
Passing by;
And gathering Angels
Wondered why

A burdened Mother
Did not mind
That only animals
Were kind.

For who in all the world
Could guess
That God would search out
Loneliness.”
— Sr. M. Chrysostom, O.S.B.

7.
“It is not true that creation and the human family are doomed to destruction and loss—
This is true: For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life,

It is not true that we must accept inhumanity and discrimination, hunger and poverty, death and destruction
This is true: I have come that they may have life, and that abundantly.

It is not true that violence and hatred should have the last word, and that war and destruction rule forever
This is true: Unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder, his name shall be called wonderful councilor, mighty God, the Everlasting, the Prince of peace.

It is not true that we are simply victims of the powers of evil who seek to rule the world
This is true: To me is given authority in heaven and on earth, and lo I am with you, even until the end of the world.

It is not true that we have to wait for those who are specially gifted, who are the prophets of the Church before we can be peacemakers
This is true: I will pour out my spirit on all flesh and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, your young men shall see visions and your old men shall have dreams.

It is not true that our hopes for liberation of humankind, of justice, of human dignity of peace are not meant for this earth and for this history
This is true: The hour comes, and it is now, that the true worshipers shall worship God in spirit and in truth.

So let us enter Advent in hope, even hope against hope. Let us see visions of love and peace and justice. Let us affirm with humility, with joy, with faith, with courage: Jesus Christ the life of the world.”
— Allan Boesak

8.
“In our poverty of spirit
Christ arrived as God’s good Word;
(Grant us, God, good grace to hear it.)
Christ was born to be our Lord.

In the gloom of deep, dull darkness,
In the shade of endless night,
Jesus came a child, a baby,
Born to give us hope and light.

In the gloom of deep, dull darkness,
In the shade of endless night,
Jesus came a child, a baby,
Born to give us hope and light.

When we felt our hearts were broken,
Jesus met us face to face,
Loving us in word and token –
Born to give us peace and grace.

Wisest one of all the ages
Christ came here, a babe so small,
Early blessed by wizened sages,
Born to lead and bless us all.”
— Jack Brown

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9.
“From Mary’s sweet silence,
Come, Word mutely spoken!

Pledge of our real life,
Come, Bread yet unbroken!

Seed of the Golden Wheat,
In us be sown.

Fullness of true Light,
Through us be known.

Secret held tenderly,
Guarded with Love,

Cradled in purity,
Child of the Dove,

COME!”
— Sr. M. Charlita, I.H.M.

10.
“I see the hands of Joseph.
Back and forth along bare wood they move.
There is worry in those working hands,
sorting out confusing thoughts with every stroke.
“How can this be, my beautiful Mary now with child?”
Rough with deep splinters, these hands,
small, painful splinters like tiny crosses
embedded deeply in this choice to stay with her.
He could have closed his hands to her,
said, “No” and let her go to stoning.
But, dear Joseph opened both his heart and hands
to this mother and her child.
Preparing in these days before
with working hands
and wood pressed tight between them.
It is these rough hands that will open
and be the first to hold the Child.

I see the hands of John,
worn from desert raging storms
and plucking locusts from sand ripped rocks
beneath the remnant of a Bethlehem star.
A howling wind like some lost wolf
cries out beneath the moon,
or was that John?
This loneliness,
enough to make a grown man mad.
He’s waiting for this, God’s whisper.
“Go now. He is coming.
You have prepared your hands enough.
Go. He needs your servant hands,
your cupping hands to lift the water,
and place his feet upon the path to service and to death.
Go now, John, and open your hands to him.
It is time.”

I see a fist held tight and fingers blanched to white.
Prying is no easy task.
These fingers find a way of pulling back to old positions,
protecting all that was and is.
Blanched to white. No openness. All fright.
But then the Spirit comes.
A holy Christmas dance begins
and blows between the twisted paths.
This fist opens
slowly,
gently,
beautifully,
the twisted fingers letting go.
Their rock-solid place in line has eased.
And one by one the fingers lift
True color is returned
And through the deepest of mysteries,
The holiest of holies,
O longing of longings
Beyond all human imagining
this fist,
as if awakened from Lazarus’ cold stone dream
reaches out to hold the tiny newborn hand of God.”
— Catherine Alder

Tags : Advent Poems, Advent Poetry Mary Oliver, Light Advent Poetry, Advent Poems for Children, Advent Poem Patrick Kavanagh, Advent Calendar Poems, Advent Quotes Bible, Advent Poems and Prose, Poems for Advent, Advent Story

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