O come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem.
But we are not all joyful;
And we are not all faithful.
“Triumphant” is a claim that stays
A year or two—or ten—away.
We’ve lost the cadence in our rhyme;
We’ve lost the ones we loved to time
Or dimming memory or disease—
Where is this house of bread and ease?
Yet still we tread with hope that clings;
We murmur faith and barely sing
On each hard day, through each dark night:
“There is a God who makes things right.”
O come, ye worried and undone;
O come, ye who have often run.
O come, ye broken and confused;
O come, ye bullied and abused.
O come, when sin requires grace;
O come, when you have missed the race.
Yes, come, ye doubters, restless souls—
This Child will live to make you whole.
So stay in grace.
—Bill Knott