What story might have the old man
Wrinkled with years, sitting under the oak?
But what story the great tree
Compared to the soil beneath?

And what story has the soil
That the rock supporting it not know deeper?
And what tells the cliff edge
That the crashing sea knows longer?

And what of the stars?
Who can write their biography?
But what are the stars compared to angels?
All the celestials that sang together at the world’s birth?

And then what of Wisdom,
Who is the first of created things?
But can Wisdom claim the lengthy knowledge,
Of her own great Creator, King?

Consider, therefore, the incarnation of Christ
The Eternal of Agnes who hair is white as snow.
Can it be? Are not angles astonished?
He becomes infant, hangs at his mothers breast.

The angels never cease to tell
The astonishing story
That Jesus Christ, Son of God
Born of woman, yet Eternal glory.
Infinite- and infant
Eternal- born of woman
Almighty- hanging on woman’s breast
Supporting the universe- requiring his mothers careful arms

Is it not wonderful that he submitted
To jeering, lashing, encompassing dogs?
Is it not surprising he bridled his tongue?
Though blasphemy was uttered against Divinity?

The humble man before his foes,
A weary man, and full of woes.
Yet one word and armies, hosts?
Does this not show his love most?

I bless him for it
I love him for it
I desire to praise his name remembering
That Immortality endured suffering for me

But to understand it,
I cannot pretend.

His name must all eternally be
Called “Wonderful”, “Counselor”, “Almighty”!

Inspired by Charles Spurgeon Sermon: “His Name-Wonderful”

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