STOP the Presses!

God made Gold

 

            – He’s not making any more!

 

Man makes cheap paper

(coupon “money”)

 

            He should print NO more.

            – eab, 9/9/09

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JERUSALEM

Our Lord had finished His ministry

Of untold, eternal worth.

Had died and been buried

In His-own-created earth.

He then arose victorious

Over hell and death and sin,

And just before He left,

He commissioned a few men.

                   – eab, 9/98

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William C. Dix – death, Sep. 9/9/1898

What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

William C Dix died this date 9/9/1898, at Cheddar, Somerset, England.  He wrote dozens of songs in addition to this – one being another “Christmas” song, “As with Gladness, Men of Old.”  Dix was born 6/14/1837 at Bristol, England.

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