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The Blessed Burden

I think of the little donkey
Whom the precious Burden bore,
That far-off, fabled midnight,
Unto the stable door.

I think about the manger
In which the Christ Child lay,
So warm and snug and cradled
In a soft bed of hay.

The faithful, little donkey
More than did his part
In service to the Savior,
It truly heals the heart

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To think he stood with reverence,
As is the story told,
While angels sang glad tidings
To shepherds at their fold.

Of lowly birth, He came to earth,
But this brings sweet reprieve,
He was welcomed by a donkey
On that wondrous Christmas Eve.

They say there is a Heaven
Where the blessed donkeys go,
And every year at Christmas,
I pray it may be so.

Don Beckman

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