The Heritage

The angels looked down from above

and wondered at a child

Who without deeds much fair or foul

had won the Master’s smile

A child whose path seemed blessed all through

right from his very dawn.

There were no curses in his path

to climb or stumble on.

This child was set, much like a king

with heritage the rule

That brought those tiny feet to stand

where never stands the fool

On mountaintops of grace and love

in palaces of joy

A scepter in the baby hand

that could be holding toys.

Why do you bless this infant, God?

The angels question there,

What justifies the blessings poured

out on this baby fair?

Then God the Father, with a smile,

he nodded down below

At one old couple, tried and true,

and said, You boys should know,

Four generations in that babe,

four generations strong

Have honored me with faith and love,

now watch them carry on

To teach that babe what Granddad knows,

what Granny found in me —

And I will bless the child who’s born

to such a family.