Thursday, December 24, 2009

One Solitary Life

It doesn't feel like Christmas until I've heard Gene Autry sing Christmas tunes. On his Christmas album, he recites a poem entitled "One Solitary Life" which helps sum up the meaning of Christmas. The poem is as follows -
He was born in an obscure village, a child of a peasant woman.
He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty,
Then became an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never did one thing that usually accompanies greatness.
He had no credentials but Himself.
While still a young man, public opinion turned against Him.
His friends ran away.
One denied Him.
He went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
His executioners gambled for His only piece of property - His coat.
He was laid in a borrowed grave.
Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone.
Today He is the centerpiece of the human race.
All the armies that ever marched,
All the navies that ever sailed,
All the parliaments that ever sat,
And all the kings that ever reigned put together,
Have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as that
One Solitary Life.
Have a Merry Christmas.

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